I'm not one to sit idly and do nothing. I'm (usually) always doing something. There's always something that can be folded, cleaned, washed, read, made, bought, played with - I am perpetual motion. "Ruthlessly efficient" has been used to describe me, and it's probably the closet description I think I've heard. I'm kind of proud of that assessment.
For the last 5 weeks, and essentially for the past 4 months, I have had to stop. Period. Just stop. This was very, very difficult for me in the beginning. Okay, fine, in the beginning it just didn't happen. I couldn't slow down. I did more than I should have, more than I had to, and more than was asked of me. I was so wrapped up in being better than my injury that I couldn't hear the subtle hints my body was throwing my way, ones I would have easily picked up on had I been quieter, easier, and less angry at myself for breaking.
It's funny, when Fate has a lesson to teach you, it makes damned sure you listen, come hell or high water. Instead of sitting down and listening to Fate in July, when I became injured, I was rude and waited until October to invite her in. Hey, at least I let her stand at my front stoop in good weather, right?
So began my lessons in the Fine Art of Doing Nothing. For about 8 hours a day, when Hubs and Tiny Tot had left for the day, I was schooled in patience, humility, and futility.
Presently, I have three days left until I can walk and drive again.
So when I opened my email and found the preceding horoscope (copied at top), I thought, "well damn...Fate knows me all too well, doesn't she?"