Post-OP

I keep forgetting that this is the age when we're still trying to figure things out.

Sometimes life has a way of telling you to stop, when you feel as if you're going around in circles.

In my case, mine came in the form of a surgery. An unexpected surgery.

It was called Meckel's Diverticulum.  For once in my life, it wasn't something I did, or ate. It was something congenital. I really was just born with it. And apparently I was part of the 2% that ended up getting problems with it later on in life.

And I must say, it sure as hell came at the most inconvenient time. At least that's what I've been thinking on the surface. But that back part of my mind seems to be telling me something else.

I was given 6 weeks of recovery time. I'm only on my first week, and I'm already I'm going crazy. I can't work. I need to walk, yet I can only be out for limited amounts of time. I can't do any "streneous activity". Writing and creating seems more like a chore than something to look forward to, because being busy is what flows those creative juices---Blah, blah, blah...

Now, this may seem like whiny ramblings, but I do believe something is at work here. A story, perhaps. Or maybe a discovery.

It begs the question: Who am I, when my ability to do things is taken away?

I don't have an answer to that yet.

But I do know why that is why I moved to this strange land.

To figure that out.

Welcome to week one.