I have been at home. It started in the latter half of
February....
I have been at home. It started in the latter half of
February. We’d finished a big job, and I’d asked M. if I could take some time,
three weeks or four, to revise a draft of a new book project. It was good timing;
she needed a break as well. But then it went longer, and a little longer after
that. And I wrote and wrote and got weird spending days alone in my brain.
Carpentry work rolled around
again, a bathroom job that started with stalls and stutter steps, thrown off by
a plumber in crisis which meant more days off from building.
And now again, stalls and delays for various reasons, so I continue
writing. I woke up one morning earlier this week and looked in the mirror as I
tied back my hair and saw that all my muscles were gone. They’d lasted months
without lifting saws and pressing on the drill and hammering and lugging
lumber. Then, one morning, all at once, gone. My body, suddenly feels
unfamiliar. And what I’m thinking about is building decks, hoping we win a bid
for one, and getting strong again. The view, above, of my living room, of the
inside of my own skull, is getting too familiar and different muscles now need
flexing.
