Resting 

I am not the best patient in the world.  I wish I could claim to be relaxed, content and at peace but I fight.  The last four days I’ve spent more time in bed than out of it.

Work has been in tiny blocks and will probably be rubbish when I look back at it.  But I am one of life’s problem solvers.  No time to think is wasted, although reading is beyond me just now.  Being under the weather is an opportunity to think creatively.  It’s not a down tools moment but a chance to find new ways of working.  

Writing in fifteen minute blocks has been a revelation.  It focuses the mind!  Reminds me a bit of the Ancient Times when I wrote on a typewriter after longhand drafts.  A sentence was thought about a lot more before it made it through the typewriter ribbon onto a dodgy carbon copy.

So today I’ve mulled over ideas, unpicked difficulties with work, thought about a new piece I’ve been commissioned to write and rested.  Resting, when I get beyond my frustration is a best friend and a helpmate.  

Today she certainly is.  I have had to give in ungraciously and clear my diary for the next couple of days.  I’ve a huge fear of letting people down but at the moment I’m not much use to anyone unless you’re casting Mr Blobby stand ins with no movement involved.  So I have let go of my frustration with my body and listened to the advice I’d give anyone who was stuck in bed and asked.  Make yourself as comfy as you can.  And let yourself off the hook for a bit.  Comfy is a big ask but time out with trash on telly, audio book, dogs and a cat … is a blessing in disguise.  

Fear of course has kept me agitated.  Fear my physical health is taking a dip.  Well, if it is, worrying isn’t going to make it any better.  If it isn’t, rest is the best medicine.  Sometimes I can be a real numpty.  

  

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