I'm dying for some action I'm sick of sitting 'round here trying to write this book

I'm sitting on my couch, staring at the screen, waiting for some inspiration, and all I can think is that I wish I had a punching bag. I sometimes get in these moods when I kind of withdraw into myself - call it extended introversion. I suspect one or two of you out there might know what I'm talking about. I lose the ability to express myself in any coherent way, I get overwhelmed easily, I find myself sticking close to home. I even have a hard time connecting to my husband and family (which isn't fair to them, but that's the way it is).  I can't pretend like this phase of my illness has nothing to do with it - I'm pretty damn tired of being an invalid. I'm embarrassed to hide that part of me from Mr. PW - someone whom I've never hidden anything from.  I'm tired of having to change my equipment every week, of never sleeping deeply because I'm afraid of rolling onto it, I'm tired of worrying about a leak whenever I'm in public, I'm tired of not being able to wear PANTS. Know what I'm wearing right now? Maternity jeans. That's the only pant (besides sweats) that doesn't cut directly across my stoma. I will say this for them - they're the most comfortable pants I've ever worn. Dirty-mirror photo, taken two weeks after surgery, as proof:

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Also, messy guest room.

I know, intellectually, that going through a major illness involves a form of the grief process, and I'm totally justified in feeling sad. Because I am. I'm sad. And I'm angry. I don't think women are supposed to admit that. And I'm really, really jealous of you healthy people out there. Know when your parents used to tell you that you didn't have anything if you didn't have your health? TOTALLY TRUE. But then again, I feel a little guilty for feeling the way I do. I have some dear friends going through much more difficult things. At least there's a light at the end of the tunnel for me.

But if this wasn't overwhelming enough, it's the holidays, we're still settling into our house, and Mr. PW's trying to get through the semester without collapsing. We don't need both of us in the hospital. I just keep counting down the weeks until January, when some of this will get put back the way it was and I can try to face forward instead of jogging in place.