I love writing. I especially love writing this blog, because it’s a form of therapy for me. However, this annoying little thing keeps interfering with my blogging.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not one to complain about my various responsibilities. I have always had the feeling that if I complained too much about my life, then God might decide to show me what a hard life is really like. (I am in no way suggesting here that God is a sadist. I am merely saying that, as a species, humans tend to require drastic measures to be shown a point. If I was God, I would be smiting people left and right. But I digress.)
Anyway, back to my original point, which was……um……wait a minute…….0h, right, my point was that life can be very hectic. Life can really keep you from doing the things that you want to be doing. To illustrate this, allow me to share with you a completely (not so) fictional tale about a young woman, her grandmother, and the long, long, curtain.
One day, a young(ish) woman and her grandmother were Spring cleaning. The young woman had taken down the long, long curtain and put it in the washing machine. The curtain was a very long (duh!), scarf type curtain which is used to make a smarmy little swag on the window. The long, long curtain was finished in the washer, and The Grandmother–um, I mean the grandmother–got it out to take it through the house. The long, long curtain was still damp, because we hang it up damp so it doesn’t wrinkle (I bet you didn’t know I was going to be giving home cleaning pointers here, did you?) As the grandmother walked through the kitchen with the long, long curtain, part of it became tangled in her feet, and she stumbled and fell.
Now, the young woman was up on a stool cleaning the window where the long, long curtain lives. From that vantage point, the crash resulting from the grandmother’s fall was tremendous. The young woman jumped from the stool (also resulting in a tremendous crash) and ran to the kitchen to find the grandmother sitting against the dishwasher. The long, long curtain lay benignly on the floor. The grandmother summed up her plight with two words: “My knee.”
Yes, readers, the grandmother is, in fact, The Grandmother, and the young(ish) woman is me. Shocking, I know.
So, long story short, The Grandmother broke her kneecap. Shattered it, would be a more accurate description. She had surgery Tuesday to wire it back together so it will heal.
The Grandmother is a very active, busy woman, and this sitting around thing isn’t working out so well for us. She is also fiercely independent, and hates asking anyone for help for anything, so my job is to predict what she wants and give it to her before she has to ask. She’s trying to be patient, and I’m trying to avoid direct eye contact with her.
With my preexisting duties for my regular people, things have certainly got a little busy around here. When I do have a few minutes to look at the computer or write, I just don’t have the want-to.
I didn’t tell you this story to get pity, I told you so that would know I am still alive, and I still intend to blog, but it will be sporadic at best. Even my Facebooking is suffering. If I’m not commenting on blogs I usually read, I swear I will someday return. Most likely in six to eight weeks. Then hopefully things will get back to normal around here. Well, as normal as they ever are.
In the meantime, spare me a thought as you go about your day. And if I turn up missing, check the curtain. That thing is vicious.