Trapped

Inspirational song: Entangled (Genesis)

When my life was crazy busy, this Park was a refuge. I couldn't wait to give up my obligations and immerse myself in it. Now, more than a year after I was able to close the gates on the world, I'm discovering that this feels more like voluntarily shutting myself in an asylum. As it turns out, there is a limit on how much of one's own company is tolerable. I think I passed that limit a few months ago, but circumstances beyond my control have extended my stay well past the point of it ceasing to be fun. The longer I let myself burrow in a blanket fort in the living room, the harder it is to find the way out of it. I want to be out, seeing people, doing things. But I'm still not able to function without pain, and I go too long in between trips outside. Twice this week I've forgotten even to go to the curb for the mail. This has to stop. My antibiotics ran out yesterday (yay!), and I'm ready to start eating normal quantities of normal food. If my body will cooperate, I might even take it out for dinner soon. I just have to get outside and make it happen. I could start with a movie tomorrow, since it's really just doing the same thing I've been doing while I waited to heal, but it's doing it someplace different. At this point, just sitting in a different chair sounds like enough of a novelty to be worth the overpriced popcorn that will make my stomach hurt but I will eat anyway. I do have lots of things I want to do next week, and I need to decide whether I will be strong enough to take the mini-vacation I had planned for the end of the month. The mah jongg master and I have been planning to take the train to points north, where we can see several old friends and some family, but I'm worried about being stuck on a train for twelve hours if my symptoms haven't fully diminished by then. Even the rocking motion of driving a few blocks to buy groceries is a challenge still. A long voyage sounds beyond my capabilities for now.

I know the world we be back to rights soon. I will heal, my life will be active and exciting again. The man will come home, and all those decisions about the future will be made. But tonight, this house feels as inescapable as all the sticky spider webs that surround it. I'm over it.