Recovery

Recovery is dull.  I lay and listen to the ceiling fan rat-a-tat-tat-tat, yielding to involuntary patterns of sleep.  I have discovered the value of unread fiction, yarn stashes and rainy day projects tucked away.  I await books being held at the library.  There is a dress to smock, but it aggravates my shoulder, which continues to hurt.  Oh, there is pain: aching, itching, throbbing.  There is also the sharp pains of coughing, laughing, breathing too deeply.  Now, I know the value of narcotics, their numbing and distraction.  It’s time to sleep.