I need to get out of the house, but I'm not supposed to do so as of yet. This is making me start to do things like speak in a Frau Blucher voice.
Yes, I am going schtir crazy. I haven't quite hit the halfway mark according to doctor's orders.
Now you know why I went out to sing on Sunday. I'm really not one to lie around and do nothing for weeks at a time. I have a hard time sitting still during the prayer/meditation for Sunday services. That's about a minute, folks. So my internal combustion is about to blow. I may start climbing the walls while singing "The Hills are alive...with the sound of music!"
Trust me, I'm no Julie Andrews these days.
I'm also weeping over the Olympics. Poor Lindsey Vonn, Poor Julie Mancuso, last night. Everytime the news or the Olympic playback commentary revisits the performance the other night of the Canadian skater whose mother died, I absolutely bawl. I know I'm going to lose it when she skates again tonight for the long program.
I swear it's all just because I really want to bust a move and can't. All that energy has to go somewhere. I'm also looking out the window at my scrappy garden and just want to break out the handtiller and get some sunshine. But it's going to be a while longer. Patience is a wondrously elusive quality. Especially patience with self.
But I have started critiquing my writers' group stuff, some of which was written at the retreat. I'm enjoying what I'm seeing from them and it's getting me back in the mood to finish the edits on my manuscript.