In between

I am just unmedicated enough to be tired of lying around with my foot up on pillows, and just medicated enough to be unable to concentrate on writing or the written word. I don't dare take up any craft work, because I'll just have to re-do it later. THS and I have watched a few movies together, and now he's absorbed in a computer game, and I'm looking for low-focus-required ways to entertain myself. Our cat would rather I entertain her. In fact, she's staring at me right now, willing me to stop typing and do something for her amusement. It's a little uncanny how long she can just sit and stare at me, Yoda-like, using the Kitty Force. 

Now and then my foot starts feeling all stabbed and hurty, and I have to up the dose again. On pain killers, the days blend by. Natural pauses in conversation seem to me to take hours; I can't tell if what I say is said or merely thought, but my visitors report that conversation flows normally. After they leave, I think of spring. I think of tulips and daffodils forced into bloom from bulbs set into water-filled beakers. I see all the leaves of fall that will have settled over winter into loam for the earth, and my pale right foot with its paler scars. strong and planted to the soil in counterpoint with the left, right, left, right, carrying me over the trails and hills of this land.