The Void

I promised myself that I would start writing soon.

It is practically the one-month anniversary of my accident. I cannot believe that I've been away that long. Anyway, I'm sitting here, trying to think of something to say. And I find myself empty.

My life as of late is comprised of healing, sleeping, eating, and going to physiotherapy. There's nothing to write about. Nothing, at least, that anyone would want to read about, unless you are a glutton for banality.

Aside from dealing with lawyers, and evil insurance adjusters, I spend my time chatting online with friends, acquaintances, and complete strangers. It's a way to connect for this housebound-hermit, and it keeps me from drifting into depression. I try and laugh as often as I can, but usually it's at the expense of some inanimate object's feelings. The stress is almost as immobilizing as my gimpy leg.

So I'm writing about the void. The nothingness of a day filled with dead air.

I often lie down and think. And then I try to move my knee. I spend a great deal of time attempting this. It's exhausting. I then eat a meal. I usually have to go to physio. I come back home and check email. Have a nap. Eat. I watch a little TV. Eat some more. Time for bed.

That's my life. Until I'm able to go back to work. In the meantime, I spend way too much time inside my own head. Patience Reese, patience. Life will begin again soon.