My days are starting to blend together. The four walls of my office-turned-bedroom seem smaller every day. At night it feels like I’m in a 2X5 cell. Just big enough for me. The loneliness is overwhelming.

For someone who lives on her computer, even running a site as small as the Studio is a huge time commitment, it’s amazing that’s not my life. My life are the people around me. My kids, husband, friends, the daily people on my errands. All of which are fading away.

I hear the kids outside my door, I see them run by in the hall. Sure, they stop in. They sit with me. Visit. In a way I hear more about their days now then I did before. But. I can’t drive them to practice. I’ve never met any of the kids on Tess’ golf team. I don’t know the new kids at Dane’s break dance. And I can only remember, for sure, the one guy at Dave’s new office.

I’ve been stuck in my bed, foot held above my heart, for 5 weeks. Five long, miserable weeks. My bone is healing beautifully (Pride Before Fall). But, there’s always a but & this is a big one, my foot is not. It’s dangling at an angle. Leaning to the left. It’s refusing to straighten out even with hours of agonizing PT. Even worse? It’s swollen. Disgustingly, painfully, swollen.

The second I bring it down lower, the swelling increases. Even sitting up, my foot up (but below my heart) causes more swelling. If I do anything, even going to physical therapy, the swelling increases until I once again have a Fred Flintstone size foot. And so, I’m in bed. In my office. Avoiding stairs. Avoiding people. Foot up.

I am going insane. Crazy. Bored. Lonely. My neck aches from looking to the side, at my monitor next to my bed, keyboard in my lap. Trying to work, keep busy. Useful. Instead of getting easier, it’s all getting more difficult.

My saving grace is the cat. Mochi. Mochi who now loves me. Who comes to me. Who spends her days with me. Mochi, who right now is laying next to me. Curled up in a coma, head tucked in, sleeping away. Touching me. Always touching me. Giving me comfort & love and making my days bearable.

But. Again with the buts. I could really do without her help. I cannot tell you how often she “helps”. Typing for me, when really, I can do that myself.