My life these last few weeks is much like my new mattress... Sunny, exciting, beautiful, and a little lumpy.
With everything wrapping up quietly and uneventfully this horrific chapter of my life is nearly over. The only hints to the nightmare that was recovery are my thousands of new (and beautiful AND GRACIOUSLY ACCEPTED) pyjamas and that small jar of bio-oil keen eyes may spy in the background...
Tomorrow is my last physio rehab session and I've already seen the last of my surgeon... the surreal reality is about to begin.
Unfortunately, due to a number of circumstances my post-surgery life is not as I planned it to be. No longer will I be jetting off to Japan as a celebratory escape from recovery, no longer will I have full-time work. So I have to plan once more on how to keep busy (at least it will soon only be for 4 days a week instead of the full seven).
Crafting is my new thing. And it feel wonderful to finish things - a type of satisfaction I rarely felt before. So because I cannot live the life I planned, I am planning on making this life my new life!
The perfect opportunity to start getting up early, finishing everything, accomplishing small things, staying on task, living dreams and reading books. At the risk of sounding entirely wanky, it's given me an opportunity to re-examine my life before I truly begin one. It reminds me of Robert Frost's poem the road not taken... (always one of my least favourite poems due to the Board of Studies insistance of making us study it every year at school, but very poignant) and considering my extreme bable... I feel it's more fitting to leave you with his beautiful words
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear,
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I marked the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear,
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I marked the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
Robert Frost
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