So, the book is on other desks. The long blizzardy winter is over. The sun is out and a soft wind is blowing through the pines. I’d sorely love to be out there, testing myself on a nice long run on the Santa Fe trail.
But somehow, I hobbled myself. It might be a torn meniscus. Probably, according to my massage guy, who gave the standard warning that he’s not licensed to diagnose. But he sees a lot of injury.
How did I do it, you ask? Running through the trees? Hiking some glorious mountain? Nay, nay….
Getting out of the car in high heels that I wore to dinner for Christopher Robin’s birthday Friday night. How ignoble!
I am NOT a happy writer today. I’m lonely without the book, which is one of those things you learn to live with, but never quite get used to. It’s spring. I am an outdoor girl and I’d like to garden, walk, run, dance on the trails.
Instead, I’m stuck propping the knee up and hoping it will be the kind of tear that resolves itself. (Nay, believing that. Honestly, after all the reading I’ve done, it seems pretty positive. It’s not terribly painful. The swelling is mild. Etc.) Reading the literally hundreds of responses to what I thought was a fairly straightforward call to check out the RITA finalists when they’re announced this week. Wondering what the next projects will be.
My dad used to sing a song to us when we were whiny like this–I can’t remember it all, but it had something to do with eating worms. I can’t feast if I can’t run, but maybe a movie is in order. (And I hear Bonnie Raitt singing, "poor poor pitiful me….")
What do you do when you’re whiny and pathetic? How do you cheer yourself up?