Well, I've had a few brutal days but yesterday saw my beloved Dr. Norrie, the sweetest GP in town, who got my meds sorted and added an antinflamatory that seems to do the trick. Now, instead of lying on the floor moaning pitifully, I may be able to get up and actually do something.
But wait! One of the things I am learning through this injury is that I have a pathetic, perhaps obsessive need to be productive. To legitimize my existence. Why do I look at this time for healing, for rest, to be a wasted opportunity for making things?
Alice, of Lyric Couture and a SORR organizer in New Hampshire sent me a book of her poems and some good thoughts. "It's hard not to feel your life is terribly interrupted and even harder to try to see all this as part OF the life instead, for real, and not in a sappy-fake-spiritual way. Or, more simply, what I mean is, you are not of less value because you are not able to be "productive" or even doing anything."
I don't have any new things to show you, but here's an older piece that was a lot about production. I never felt it was finished - maybe I just didin't know how to stop making tiny invisible stitches.