It’s been six months to the day that I’ve been cooped up with “the back” and I find myself falling further and further away from what I want my life to be like. It is not just that I can’t get around well and feel so limited and exhausted by everything, it is as if I really can’t do anything, or maybe rather, why should I bother with anything?
Oh, yes, I still manage to get a shower every day (it is quite a production and so takes up a good chunk of time and I’m a big fan of anything that passes the time) and clean up the kitchen and start dinner just about every night, but I’m not enjoying any of these things as much as I used to. I spend a large part of the day now surfing around on line and watching TV, even though I hate to admit this. I’d like to write more, study German, learn to draw, but then there’s that nagging, “why bother?” Part of me maybe feels like whatever I try is going to be half assed and limited, the way my body is now, and if it is, well, then, I’ll feel even worse.
I feel really sorry for my husband, who gets to come home from work and finish whatever tasks I’ve started and tired out before completing (putting laundry away, emptying the dishwasher, finish cooking dinner), plus everything else he has to do (walk the dog, take out the trash, clean up after dinner) and then wait on me cause by nighttime I’m usually done in, worn out, and having a lot of trouble moving in any way from trying to physically, literally, hold myself up all day. Besides, with him here, it’s even easier to say, “why bother?”
Today, I imagined the doctor’s office calling and saying that they wanted to schedule the surgery. I thought about them saying it would be in four weeks and I fantasized that I said, “Well, it’s a long way off, but at least I know there’s an end in sight and I can start planning.” I was excited in this daydream, and happy, even though I was scared and dreading being cut open again. The mood in my mind seemed to match the clear sunny sky outside and the warm hydrangea-scented air coming in the window; hopeful and smelling of promise.
The afternoon turned hotter, stickier, and I had to rouse myself long enough to put the air conditioning on. I tried to return to the fantasy, to the imagined phone call that made me so happy, but it was too late; sharp, frigid air was flooding the room, replacing the soft sweet breeze that smelled like something good would finally happen. I guess I could have closed my eyes, and tried harder, but why bother?
Oh, yes, I still manage to get a shower every day (it is quite a production and so takes up a good chunk of time and I’m a big fan of anything that passes the time) and clean up the kitchen and start dinner just about every night, but I’m not enjoying any of these things as much as I used to. I spend a large part of the day now surfing around on line and watching TV, even though I hate to admit this. I’d like to write more, study German, learn to draw, but then there’s that nagging, “why bother?” Part of me maybe feels like whatever I try is going to be half assed and limited, the way my body is now, and if it is, well, then, I’ll feel even worse.
I feel really sorry for my husband, who gets to come home from work and finish whatever tasks I’ve started and tired out before completing (putting laundry away, emptying the dishwasher, finish cooking dinner), plus everything else he has to do (walk the dog, take out the trash, clean up after dinner) and then wait on me cause by nighttime I’m usually done in, worn out, and having a lot of trouble moving in any way from trying to physically, literally, hold myself up all day. Besides, with him here, it’s even easier to say, “why bother?”
Today, I imagined the doctor’s office calling and saying that they wanted to schedule the surgery. I thought about them saying it would be in four weeks and I fantasized that I said, “Well, it’s a long way off, but at least I know there’s an end in sight and I can start planning.” I was excited in this daydream, and happy, even though I was scared and dreading being cut open again. The mood in my mind seemed to match the clear sunny sky outside and the warm hydrangea-scented air coming in the window; hopeful and smelling of promise.
The afternoon turned hotter, stickier, and I had to rouse myself long enough to put the air conditioning on. I tried to return to the fantasy, to the imagined phone call that made me so happy, but it was too late; sharp, frigid air was flooding the room, replacing the soft sweet breeze that smelled like something good would finally happen. I guess I could have closed my eyes, and tried harder, but why bother?
posted by Backblog at 4:10 PM
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