Discombobulated.

My adjective of choice after a discombobulated week that followed hard on the heels of a discombobulated month thanks to the man of steel’s back troubles. Sure, the surgeon used fancy-schmancy terms like “ruptured disk” and “disk extrusion.” But I knew he really meant Hiram’s back was…

Discombobulated.

This general term is more specific to our situation because though the doctor removed Hiram’s stitches on Monday, and said his recovery is going well, he also said the man of steel needs to be off work for at least two more weeks. So he can do physical therapy to strengthen his back. But when he’s not at physical therapy, he’s still puttering around. Which means his guitars are scattered throughout the house. Which makes me feel…

Discombobulated.

Don’t get me wrong. Having Hiram and his guitars around the house is pleasant. But his presence means I keep interrupting my work to ask him questions or tell him important stuff. Because writers take advantage of any distraction to avoid writing. Which means my daily writing routine is pretty…

Discombobulated.

My condition persists even though Hiram’s extra time off mean we were able to make a quick trip to Wisconsin to see Allen and Abbey earlier this week. Even though the extra time off means our upcoming trip Minneapolis for a baby shower won’t be rushed. Even though the extra recovery time means we can watch more episodes of Lost, which we became addicted to when Hiram couldn’t get around much. Even though I’m counting all those blessings, this creature of habit still feels…

Discombobulated.

Kinda like after we brought each of our babies home, and it took a few months to get used to the new normal. Except in this case, about the time I get used to the new normal, the doctor will say Hiram can go back to work. And I’ll sit around the house feeling…not lonely or aimless. No, I’ll once again feel…

Discombobulated.