Sanity Over a 20 Year Period

This morning while I was writing, my foot, unknown to me, fell asleep. The phone rang and I stood quickly to grab it. My foot, of course, could not hold my weight, and crumpled underneath me. There was a loud "crack" and I hit the carpet, landing squarely in the hallway, wondering if I had broken my first bone.

Of course, I hadn't. It only hurts enough to make me whine now and again.

I'm under strict instructions via several friends not to analyze a thing for the next month. One went so far as to say six months. Nothing in my personal life is to be pulled apart and looked at. I have simply been told to LIVE. Apparently I'm addicted to analyzing things and it gets in my way. This is probably true. I was told to stop journaling. No books or counselors or looking at the past. For at least a month.

Isn't it enough for these people that I quit smoking a week ago?