a month ago today i had my first ever surgery. still relegated to typing one-handed; my follow-up with the dr is on tuesday, and hopefully he will tell me (in his absurdly brisk manner) that i may dispense with this sling.
i've not managed to write a damned thing. fiction-wise, that is. i can't figure out how to engage the creative piece of my brain when i have to spend so much effort figuring out how to make the individual words happen. i've managed one crit for a friend, and will be trying to get another done today.
i have gotten back my reading brain. i read steven brust's iorich, enough of damon knight's a reasonable world to decide it isn't what i'm in the mood for right now, some tank girl. i'm not up for "serious" stuff; mebbe that'll come back later. but mostly, i've just been watching farscape and babylon 5.
there's over a foot of snow on the ground, and it ain't done falling yet. the walk needs to be shoveled, as does the driveway. i can't do anything about it. this is a problem, a matter of some degree of guilt. linda's already trashed her back the first couple weeks after i had surgery, doing my housework as well as hers and all the caretaker shit that was needed. this... sigh