The Ravages of Cabin Fever

The pleasure and peril of where I live is the distance I live from the hustle and bustle of the workaday world. On the one hand, I can't pop down to the corner and grab a cup of coffee. On the other hand, I can paint my house whatever color I want, have a garden instead of a lawn and even a firepit and woodfired pizza oven (currently under construction) out behind my house. And as long as I don't violate any county codes, no one cares. After over a week of dealing with a real fever, the "cabin fever" got to me and even painting the eaves of the house began to sound like a relief from eight days on the sofa sucking down chicken broth. I spent nearly all day outside, including cooking two meals over the firepit out back, painting the eaves of the house laying on a blanket trying to remember the constellations I'd memorized when I was ten. I didn't want to come inside. So, I got very little writing or editing done this weekend, and I just don't care. My heart wasn't in it. After a week seeing nothing but my computer screen and the ceiling above the sofa, I needed to see leaves and trees and dancing flames. I have a half gallon of leftover beef stew from the dutch oven to take me into the coming week. Earthy, smoky goodness to remind me of a fabulous week.