For the past week, we have had a partial blockage in the bath pipes, not so much as to cause a major problem but it does mean we end up with a few centimeters of water in the bath when having a shower. Every night I have been warning the rest of the family to be careful not to slip and hurt themselves…
You guessed it. Sunday night I slipped, wrenched my shoulder, twisted my back and hit my sacro-iliac joint on the edge of the bath. Soon I will have massive bruising that any SCA heavy fighter would be envious of. Most of the day has been spent with a fuzzy brain due to painkillers…
Sunday was my ‘day off writing’ and I was jumping out of my skin, itching to get back to it but I did need the time for the words to settle so I could get a refreshed look at it for editing. Strangely, I had been looking forward to doing some editing on Monday. While not my favourite part of the writing process, it heralds the completion of a story and the satisfying feeling of accomplishment. As a result of the injury, I did not manage to do any re-writes and am left with feeling frustrated instead.
My dear husband was not surprised by this at all. He realised many years ago that I get grumpy when I am not creating something – whether it be writing or drawing. It was difficult to concentrate on polishing sentences while on the recommended painkillers. I must insert apologies here and now – if this post is too ‘blurry’; I am writing it in between doses before my head gets too fuzzy again.
I loathe days like this. There is a burning desire to create something, to wrench it out of my imagination and share it. However, the words slip from my consciousness before I can trap them on the page. I want to write. No, I need to write!
In the end, the best I could manage were some possible rewrites.
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