Image by Cassey via FlickrI've found out this week that confinement ("cabin fever") leads to some strong psychological distortions. First, let me explain my confinement. I can't drive, but I have this whole big house and the back yard to spend my time. However, I have spent 90 percent of it between the bed and the sofa next to the bed. I've read a dozen books and watched a dozen movies, and stared at the ceiling a lot. There you go.
But here is the mind-grinder that is plaguing me since yesterday: the floor between the bed and the sofa-by-the-bed really needs to be vacuumed. I can not vacuum. This is a magnifying cycle: the more devastated I am to not vacuum, the more the floor seems to need vacuuming, the more devastated I am to not vacuum, the more the floor seems to need vacuuming.
That is just an example. There is also the desperate need for mopping in the bathroom. Do you know the last time I mopped the bathroom? No, me either. Decades ago. But now that I CAN NOT mop the bathroom, and I don't have a whole lot to occupy my mind otherwise, I would almost be willing to compromise my own recovery to just mop that bathroom once. To just scrub some soapy bleachy water in all those corners. Could I tie something to my feet to do it? No, too much of a slipping risk. Could I flood the bathroom with soapy bleachy water so Nick has to mop it up if he wants to go in there? Only if I want him to kick me out on the street.
Yes, there is the theory that Nick could do these things, but he is also at work all day and not here staring at the floor like I am. It is not throbbing at the top of his priority list like it is on mine.
I clearly need more distractions. Yesterday I ordered some cross-stitch and embroidery supplies.