I'VE been putting my best foot forward. I have not been hanging five, in fact I've been taking metaphorical baby steps.
Eight weeks have passed since I had foot surgery and I have successfully whiled away two months a time which looked daunting at the beginning and now I wonder where they have gone.
I have spent most of that sitting and can now state categorically that television isn't worth turning on before 7pm and after 9.30pm.
I had a slow start, but have managed to read dozens of books, completed almost 300 Sudoku puzzles the fact that I know the number is sad in itself and finished one complete book of crosswords. I feel like adding another "and" at this point, but there isn't one. That pretty much wraps up my June and July.
Life on a chair isn't all that riveting. I have been phoning my mother every day, as she too had major surgery during this time. Our phone calls for the first time are punctuated by long periods of silence. It seems that neither of us have anything to say.
"News?" she asks. "None," I say.
"News?" I ask. "None," she says.
The girl who my mother says could talk under wet cement is at a loss for words.
While I may have nothing of note to report, life on a chair makes you notice the small things. For example, I didn't know before this that we had a pair of kookaburras living in an old termite nest up a tree in our back yard. Their laughing call lifts my day and makes me smile.
The smiles are shared with those friends who have popped in, friends I hadn't realised were around 9am to 5pm. With a retired husband whose daytime habits are much more familiar to me now I suppose I am on the cusp of this recreational living, but I hadn't noticed how many had already made the plunge.
My friends tell me I look well. My stock response said with a sigh is that I am getting plenty of rest.
But now, it's time. It's time to step out. It's time to write on the blank pages of the diary. I just have to get my foot to cooperate with the master plan.