For the moment, an injury keeps me confined to the couch*. My chief entertainments: leafing idly through cookbooks and watching the full season of Monk that The Fella brought home for me.
This combination has a most lovely side effect, instilling the urgent desire to bake piles of pastries and to clean the house from top to bottom, while my infirmity completely prevents me from undertaking the actual work. I get a vicarious buzz of household virtue while remaining completely immobile.
* Okay, not the couch: a nest of blankets of the floor, where I can spread out, where I can topple over without falling too far, where I can loll over and press my spasming back against the hard floor. This is not my finest hour.
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And before anyone starts feeling sorry for me: I’ll be fine. It’s even a little bit cozy, curled up in blankets on a rainy afternoon with toast and tea and tv and Valium.
Save your sympathy for The Fella, who’s been bringing me drinks and pillows and DVDs. He’s a prince, he is.
Morphine? Ativan? Fried green tomatoes? Let me know what I can bring over. ❤