Limping in L.A.

This week I find myself unable to make my usual pilgrimages to the farmers markets, or even short forays into unexplored streets. The problem? I’m laid up with an injured toe. You might think that this would give me all the more time to write, since physical movement is limited, but it doesn’t. I have learned something about myself though: I am wimp when it comes to writing during even mild discomfort. If I’m hungry, I cannot write. If I’m tired, I cannot write. If I have a headache, I cannot write. Only when all physical needs are met can I sit down and focus on words. Interestingly, this rule does not apply to all-nighters performed on the eve of a due date. Thank God.

So the fact that half of my big toenail met its untimely end on a dark, rough and uneven stone staircase this weekend is both literally and literarily crippling.