Lame Duck Day

Stuck in bed. A long list of things that need to be done runs rough my head. I can’t get up to do them, but I can jot them down. I begin to think of other things to write down, like goals, things to do outside the home, vacations I’d like to take, improvements to my house, a plan of health, and I make promises to myself to actually do these things.

Funny how you have to be knocked down to really see things clearly. Suddenly, I’m prioritizing my whole life. I make a plan of attack for the household chores in order of how much I can do as I heal. I make a plan of phone calls to make, from friendly to serious. I decide to write up a sort of will and build emergency kits for the future as soon as I am able because I was given a second chance and what if I wasn’t?

I write letters to my family. The what if has me in its grasp. I must leave behind a legacy so that others may remember me and have my memories. I begin to journal.

As the days pass and the healing takes place, the notebook becomes my lifeblood.

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