Bored, so bored. Oh God I’m so bored. Oh by the way, did I mention I’m bored??? Going from working full-time to 2 weeks on the road to a week in bed “staying off my foot” is just …don’t know.***Scream***Must…develop…hobby…or…something.
Ah ha! I’ll draw ceiling murals with a very long paint brush. Or search until I find the end of the Internet. I’ve photographed my ankle boot thingy in various other uses. None pleases me, it’s going in the attic soon, very soon.
Maybe see if I can paint my toes using a blow gun. Carve my initials into the coffee table with a nail file. Mr. Husband would probably draw the line there. In his universe anything made of wood is meant to last forever. I say that’s what the fireplace is for.
Truth be told, it doesn’t take me long to go from waxing philosophical to contemplating a straight jacket when I am supposed to rest. I don’t need to rest. I don’t want to rest. My body is telling me that I was dragged behind a truck. My brain did not go along for the ride.
My ankle is feeling better, but the rest of me is creaking and groaning from inactivity. I did not get one of those bodies that can lay around like a lizard in the sun.
Since I got home from the trip, Mr. Husband has developed a habit of asking me “what ya doing?” every 5 minutes . I’m going to start screaming “NOTHING, absolutely nothing! Would you like me to re-arrange your life for you? I have the time!” Maybe that will back him off some.