I find myself wanting to do more. I've been inside for over two weeks now. The cold hurts my ear.
I haven't been to PT. They are no longer in my insurance network. I only had one week left before my re-evaluation. But due to my ear, I couldn't finish up the last week before the first of the year.
I haven't done much, so hard to say how I'm really doing.
I yearn to paint something. To make something. The day passes so quickly. The days and weeks and months and years; they all pass so quickly.
This is a slow time for blog ads. So as a blogger you have to continually try to find new ways to make money. To keep your little ship afloat and the sails billowing in the breeze. Ebb and flow.
It is cold. COLD. I'm here in my warm flannel gown underneath the covers. I spend much of my day underneath the covers.
I stare out the window here by the bed and watch the birds; listen to them chirp. The container gardens look brown and bleak. I hope the tulip bulbs make it. I want so much to walk outside come spring and one day see them edging up out of the soil.
The ornamental grasses at least stick around, though they are withered and dormant.
My balance seems to be okay now. But moving about I hear water or something sloshing in both ears. I don't know what's wrong with the right ear. Each ear alternately stops up and I find myself turning my head to listen.
Every time I move, I hear something in each ear. Like I'm underwater and sounds are different. Or like something is clicking. Just sounds. Weird.
Thank goodness for my precious pupsters. And the birds chirping so sweetly outside, oblivious to the cold that keeps me inside. Maybe they sing because that's all they know to do on days that are bitterly cold. When the sky is gray and the sun is hidden behind clouds.
Sometimes I imagine that birds are people from the past, long gone, sent back to check on me. To sing me through the dark gray days.