Dear readers, it quite literally pains me to say this, but I have fallen down the stairs. It may have happened almost a month ago, but the lingering after effects are still with me: though my scaphoid bone is intact, my ligaments are uninjured, and my bruises have dissipated, I’ve had such a hard time using my hand and wrist that typing for work – let alone for pleasure – has been a real burden.
This has been problematic, considering typing is actually my job. I’ve been taking it easy for a while, as I slowly work my way through a deeply unhelpful healthcare system only to be told that there’s nothing actually wrong with me and I shouldn’t be in any discomfort. The fact that I am in quite a bit of discomfort seemed of little concern to my orthopedist, but that’s between me and him.
All this ruckus has kept me from pursuing my two favorite hobbies. I haven’t touched Book Three (AKA Dark the Chains of Treason) for several weeks, and I haven’t been to the archery range in what seems like an eternity.
I am slowly going mad.
Well, maybe not so slowly.
I am anticipating only a few more weeks until my wrist gets well enough for me to start returning to normal levels of activity, but in the meantime, I’m mostly just moping around, watching a lot of BBC costume dramas, and frantically trying to catch up with work-related tasks as I fail to keep my mounting frustration at bay.
I say this not so you should pity me (although if you are so inclined, please feel free), but because writing something down and opening it up to other people quantifies and contains things. Sharing these facts makes it easier for me to view a fallow period for what it is: a temporary happenstance that will eventually pass, even when a storm of circumstances makes that feel impossible.
For someone who’s more than optimally prone to seeing the end of all things in every little thing, pinning down the chaos on a page is a very helpful form of therapy.
It’s why I write anything at all, I think. Writing shapes our ideas for communication with others, and to do that, we must have order in our own minds. We must understand ourselves, and have control over ourselves, and have the patience to comb through the noise and pull out what makes sense.
For any of you who have experienced the anxiety and depression that can consume the soul when something hurts – when many things hurt – and there doesn’t seem to be anything you can do about it, you’ll know this isn’t always easy. Life so often seems like a series of terrible, hurtful things punctuated by stretches of crushing boredom, and its sheer relentlessness can make you feel so very alone.
But it will eventually pass. I’ll get back to writing. I’ll get back to archery. I’ll do everything I need to do at work. I might even reorganize my closet one day, if I am feeling particularly bold. My stupid hand will heal up, my blog posts will get cheery again (sort of), and there will be a period of blessed calm before everything starts all over again. Hopefully, another fall down the stairs won’t be part of my future, and I can focus on getting to work again soon on the things that keep me going.