The sad truth is that I like routine. And I’m a weinie. True, I like to break routine, but only because it changes things up. You can’t do that if you don’t have a routine to start with. In the good, old days–before I broke my leg–I got up in the morning, drank coffee, yakked to my husband a little, and then started writing. I broke for lunch, then wrote some more. Sometimes, (when I’m behind schedule), I’d end up writing most of the day.
Now, my whole life revolves around my leg. No kidding. I have therapy five days a week, usually from 1:00 to 2:00–my prime writing time. When I come home, my leg threatens to divorce me. And I don’t blame it. It’s sore and unhappy, (but it’s getting stronger all the time). It doesn’t care about that. It just hurts. So I spend half an hour propping it up and icing it down. I use my laptop then and try to catch up on e-mails and twitter. At three, I strap on my Dyna-splint and jump in my wheelchair to write some more.
Now, I don’t mind laughing at myself. The Dyna-splint is a devious device that helps you gradually bend your knee more and more. I think they used it in the Medieval Ages for torture, but they’ve modernized it and given it a conscience so it only works for the good of mankind. BUT, to use it, your foot can’t hit the floor. I’m a tall person. I have long legs. I have to put three couch pillows on my wheelchair to make me far enough off the floor for the Dyna-splint to work. I tried four pillows once, but my butt was higher than the arms of my chair, and if I slid sideways, I’d be in big trouble. So I have to make do. I’ve worked up to an hour (three to four), wearing it now. Then I let my leg rest, and I wheel myself out in the kitchen to pester John while he starts supper (I read recipes and he cooks them). Poor John. I’ve turned him into a char maid. He deserves a second Purple Heart. After supper, the splint goes back on from 7:00 to 8:00. Sometimes, I write, but if my leg doesn’t like me, I don’t. More pillows, more “bending.” But it’s all for the greater good. When all of this is over, my leg should work again. That’s what they tell me, and I believe them. I’ve gained a huge respect for therapists. Who else can make you wince and you still love them, because they’re determined to help you? I don’t know if anyone’s better at motivation than they are.
The truth is, I look forward to seeing them most days. I’m so klutzy, and my leg’s so temperamental, therapy is all I go to. I’ve become a recluse. I hope that makes me mysterious, but mostly, it just makes me boring. And it hasn’t helped my wriitng schule either. Hope you guys are having better luck. Happy Writing!
BTW, chapter 10’s up on my webpage. Hope you enjoy it! http://www.judithpostswritingmusings.com/