It’s been mentioned on Facebook, but until now I haven’t brought it up here; I’ve had a torn rotator cuff since the beginning of this year. I managed to do it at the gym, in spite of my careful attention to form and my complete lack of competitive or show-off behaviors.
How did this happen, you ask? Why, lifting weights, of course. The household’s power-napping fur ball doesn’t understand I’d want to lift anything heavier than a bite-sized piece of chicken.
I took a few weeks off, then went back to the gym and, paying even more attention to careful form and lifting even lighter weights, I pulled it all over again. And despite several months of physical therapy and exercises, it really doesn’t feel much better. Not even with liberal applications of this well-known, expert-endorsed icing treatment:
The physical therapist made me promise that as soon as the samples for my next knitting book were complete, I’d take a full month’s hiatus from knitting. You read that right – a full month. Now halfway into that month, my suffering is silent but profound (get out your violins…).
Knitting is like breathing to me, I’ve come to realize. It’s difficult to wait on any line without knitting a few rows to make the wait go faster. Long car trips with no knitting to make the miles speed by? Boring. Watching TV at night without knitting in hand seems pointless, no matter how enjoyable the program. And no soporific knitting before I turn out the bedside light at night? Insomnia!
To her credit, the household fur ball keeps me honest, fixing me with her unblinking yellow eyes as if to say, “Don’t even think about it!”
But I can still think about knitting. And I certainly do.
Sketches of ideas for future submissions? Check.
Perusal of my knitting books to “refine” the collection? Check.
Fondling my yarn stash under the pretext of tidying and sorting? Check.
But to be honest, halfway into my self-imposed knitting moratorium, I’m feeling just a wee bit prickly.
Comments welcome