You know what? I'm bored. I think this is a very good sign. I'm going to spend a little time this weekend getting some confidence back by driving my car, and doing an errand or two, all with Rob in tow in case I freak out and he has to take me home. Baby steps, you know? I think the worst is over, but I don't want to speak too soon.
I am currently in my pajamas sitting on the couch with my loathsome black cat, watching Barefoot Contessa on the foot network. After two months of sitting around, I have watched a lot of television. Let me save you the legwork: there is nothing on TV during the day. Unless you love reruns of The Mentalist or Law and Order, which I don't. In fact, crime shows and Kardashians take up most of the channels. Even HGTV, my favorite, has a remarkably small number of plain old decorating shows. Most of these shows, even the cooking shows, have either a competitive nature or manufactured tension between the client and the decorator or realtor, and, in my fragile state, I don't need that kind of stress.
I've seen every rerun of Friends, Everybody Loves Raymond, Gilmore Girls, you name it. I've also been watching The Cosby Show with Leila which makes me long for a time when you could actually watched sitcoms with your children because every joke and story line wasn't soaked in sex.
But do you want to know what I think saved me, in addition to time, friends, drugs, and guided meditation?
My friend loaned me seasons 1 and 2 of Downton and I watched all of it in 3 days. I am obsessed. It was the first thing in weeks that I felt engaged in, that I cared about, that I stayed awake for. It was a big deal.
So, thank you Lord Grantham and the whole Downton clan, except for Thomas, you asshole.