I'm either stuck in bed or on the sofa, with my leg propped up, and the stupid crutches continually beside me. To me, the crutches are like the proverbial albatross that's around the sailor's neck in the famous poem. He could never get rid of his albatross, and I feel the same about my crutches. And I want to be free!
Whilst a sofa prisoner, I've been watching tv programmes that I have never watched before. Cooking, singing, décor, fashion, modelling and dancing contests have an eerie fascination for me. I can't look away from them.
One thing in common all the shows have is that contestants always blather on about it being their 'dream' to be the world's next greatest singer, or fashion designer, or chef, or what-have-you. Apparently, they have clutched this dream to their bosoms since they were practically babes in arms.
So ... why haven't they already done something about getting to their dream? Why haven't they been busking on street corners? Or starting off on the lowest rung in kitchens by washing dishes and thereby working their way up the cooking ladder? Or they could have been singing in honky tonk bars? Or selling hand-made clothes and trinkets at weekend markets? Or traipsing around talent agencies?
I've noticed that most contestants on reality shows never seem to have done so much as warble a note in public, or approached a local café for a job. Or had doors slammed in their faces by uncaring agents.
I say to these contestants, dreams don't happen when one is just standing there and, well ... dreaming. Move!