The world feels very small this week. Recliner-sized, in fact.

For the past four days, my life has been circumscribed by what I can reach from this lazy-boy: the hand carved trunk that is full of my mom’s yarn and now acts as a side table for my cushy, reclining desk; various glasses and mugs filled with liquid to stay my cough; my laptop and phone; two blankets – a quilt and a fuzzy, sheepskin-like thing; my pjs; and the TV remote. There’s something blessed about this simplicity.

My mornings, which start later because of the gift that is NyQuil, include coffee and Facebook. I lean back and let sleep weigh against the back of my eyes; I don’t try to shake it off. I spend hours just touring the web to see what is new and remember what is old. I climb out of the blankets for breakfast about 11:30 and then return to my cocoon to surf the worlds of web and dreams for the afternoon. This is what life has to give me now.

I could find this frustrating, this small world, and buck against it, striving, aching to do more. But I don’t. I have found rest here, rest that I have needed and been forced to take. I’m choosing to see this as blessing.