Hobbled

I have been.  This week has drug on...and on.  Confined to bed, off your feet, sit the hell down, couch po-taaaay-toe.  Remember that last post about my spectacular ability to mess my butt up?  Well, this time I have succeeded in award-winning fashion.  Plantar fasciitis.  No, it's not a fungus and you can't catch it off a water fountain, (my first thoughts)  however, it makes one quite suddenly aware of the gift of just....standing. 


The basic run-down is that I have jacked up the arches of my feet as a "recreational athlete" by working out without proper support--for my FEET! (good grief)  The fun part is that recovering from this includes stretches, anti-inflam drugs, wearing shoes with arch supports, and wait--here's the best--icing your feet.  Can you imagine a more enjoyable way to spend the afternoon on a cold February day than ICING YOUR FEET?!?  Yep.  Joyous.  And when we got to this part:


"Most patients find relief within about three months, and over 90% within one year."


I had a heart-attack. 


Threeeeeee months?  Most?  Aaaaaak.  I am the shoeless wonder!  I got married barefoot.  I believe I own....seriously, FIVE pairs of shoes. (I swear, I am female)  One brown pair of sexy sandals, one black, one pair of converse one stars, a brown something or other, and black goes-with-black-slacks-that-I-wear-at-the-office shoes.  And that's it.  Honestly, the shoe-gene skipped me completely  (made up for in the height department, I think) and the thought of having to wear klunky supports in the summer??

 
And so, I sit.  And for those of you that truly know me, This. Is. Killing. Me.  See, the reason that I am a bruised and bandaged walking commercial for Johnson & Johnson on a regular basis, is that I never sit down!  I suppose it was the whole "raised on a ranch with three hundred animals and walked a mile to the bus stop" schtick that caused this, but I am utterly incapable of watching daytime tv.  From drywalling to painting to cooking--with three boys under the age of 12, there isn't a day I don't do laundry.  Nerf gun wars need reffed, bandaids applied (just like their mama, them boys) and the crazy dog is still a puppy--sitting down just isn't an option!  Only now? 


It's an order.


And this week.....I have sat.  I have read more.  I have listened more.  One day I after I finished a novel, I sat and just watched out my living room window...for like an hour.  I sketched out a plan for a possible book.  I wrote letters--REAL in-an-envelope letters to several of my friends I haven't seen in years and began the Rosetta Stone program to learn Italian.  The boys waited on me a bit, and helped out with the dog waaaay more.  And Lord help me, I served Tuna Helper for dinner one night. (cringe) 


You know...I had time to really think.  Some time to reflect.  In-between fits of swearing at ice-packs, I noticed that the light in my house--even on cloudy days--is lovely.  And the sweetest old lady I've never seen before walks her very old dog past my house every day about noon.

I still don't like it.  Not. One. Bit.  But I think it might be a good idea to be hobbled every now and again.  Just to spend time with....myself.