(no subject)

Maybe it's the cold, or the wind chill because it isn't actually that cold, or the grey overcast, or the cliffs of frozen snow pushed up by snowplows on the non-parking side of the street and on my side in the spaces between where cars were parked, where people dumped the snow from the sidewalk shovelling. But I'm becoming claustrophobic in this enforced isolation. I've lost all desire to exercise, even though I know I must to be mobile, or to exercise sufficiently, or to do anything but read on the sofa- which is nearly impossible to get up from if I've been there for more than fifteen minutes- or on the sideroom bed, which I can get up  from easily but can't walk after. Simply moving has become a sort of intellectual exercise which I do, not for any purpose or pleasure, but simply because I must if I don't want to go on hurting. Thus I managed to wash dishes today, and make rice to go with the edamame, but with much time out sitting on my rollator and sipping sherry. Everything just hurts. Which is why I must exercise and keep moving, and I don't want to.

Things will get better once I can get out again, which may be next month when the polar vortex is set to move west, though the snow will continue to block paths. I didn't mind winter so much when I was able-bodied, but I'm beginning to face the realization I may never be that again. And even so, I'm probably more mobile than I was before the operation: it's just that different bits hurt now than before.

(no subject)

Maybe it's the cold, or the wind chill because it isn't actually that cold, or the grey overcast, or the cliffs of frozen snow pushed up by snowplows on the non-parking side of the street and on my side in the spaces between where cars were parked, where people dumped the snow from the sidewalk shovelling. But I'm becoming claustrophobic in this enforced isolation. I've lost all desire to exercise, even though I know I must to be mobile, or to exercise sufficiently, or to do anything but read on the sofa- which is nearly impossible to get up from if I've been there for more than fifteen minutes- or on the sideroom bed, which I can get up from easily but can't walk after. Simply moving has become a sort of intellectual exercise which I do, not for any purpose or pleasure, but simply because I must if I don't want to go on hurting. Thus I managed to wash dishes today, and make rice to go with the edamame, but with much time out sitting on my rollator and sipping sherry. Everything just hurts. Which is why I must exercise and keep moving, and I don't want to.

Things will get better once I can get out again, which may be next month when the polar vortex is set to move west, though the snow will continue to block paths. I didn't mind winter so much when I was able-bodied, but I'm beginning to face the realization I may never be that again. And even so, I'm probably more mobile than I was before the operation: it's just that different bits hurt now than before.