I should be back to normal. No more wedding shenanigans, no contractors. I’m back home and ready to resume my writing routine.
There’s just one problem – my right arm swelled to twice its size on Monday.
Poison Ivy. Yep. All thanks to the landscaping help I gave my dad before our house was overrun by relatives and other out of town guests. That was two weeks ago and the dreaded stuff keeps getting worse.
When the swelling didn’t go down, I went to the doctor on Tuesday. Now I’m on heavy duty steroids and anti-itch meds that don’t just make me drowsy but put me in a coma. And I still have a puffy Popeye arm that aches whenever I type, write longhand, or hold a book.
This wasn’t the homecoming I expected.
In fact, I spent most of Tuesday drugged up and feeling sorry for myself. I got down on myself and my writing. Self-doubts that I managed to stave off before came back in full force, somehow knowing I was in no shape to disregard them this time.
Every time I get discouraged, I come back to the same thing: I know I am improving but I have nothing to show for it.
When I get in these funks, I usually start something new, something exciting, something that will distract me from the doubt. But that’s not so feasible this time. Not with my achy puss-filled balloon arm.
Consistency is so important to both my process and my progress. And when unexpected setbacks get in my way, it can be that much harder to get going once more.
I need to give my arm a break, but I’m curious to know how you deal with the unexpected.
Can you go home again?
1 month ago