One leg to stand on

Up until recently, life had been pretty hectic.  I was constantly on the lookout for the next bit of excitement, zipping off to the various diary entries that populated my week, to art college, to my copywriting job, to various gigs and social events around the city and beyond.  And I had begun thinking to myself, 'what's the point of all this?'.  Why do I have to do so much? I was getting tired of it.  Each individual thing was fun, but I was emotionally worn out, and yet somehow unable to stay in and watch tv, unable to face the quiet.
  When the offer came to join an all ages parkour class, I jumped at it (pardon the pun).  I had been trying to get more exercise, and basically would do anything to avoid staying in more than I had to. I found in my own space, my thoughts would become cyclical and negative though I was hardly aware of them, just the restlessness and dissatisfaction they brought about.  I went to the parkour group, which was actually for children though adults were also allowed, and bust my achilles in an anecdote I have told too many times to bother repeating here (when you have an injury people's first question is how did you do it?  I started saying things like 'you should have seen the other guy). Basically running up a steep slope resulted in a snapping noise and searing, nauseating pain. After that I was in an adrenaline buzz.  It was a blessing in disguise, I said. I would spend more time at home, drawing and watching tv.  maybe I would finish my novel. There was this mad optimism.
             After being in a cast for a week and then transferred into this heinous boot (which I also have to wear to sleep in) I have been sat around plenty, but I haven't made peace with quiet. It has all in all been incredibly frustrating, and the novelty of being brought drinks and dinner gave way to guilt and a will to do things for myself again pretty early on.  having a heavy contraption on your leg is a constant niggle, particularly now there's an insect bite underneath, but I can walk on it now and its better than the cast. I only really need one crutch now and can stand on two feet. It's going to be on for over a month, and in that time I'll need lifts if I go anywhere such as the upcoming Arvon course (I will finish my novel) and I'm feeling more of a burden than ever. At least it's temporary.
I have watched more tv but I still can't sit through a whole film or even an hour of a series. My concentration is as shot as my patience (nothing to do with the leg) I can read a little. I picked up an Alan Bennet book that had belonged to my Grandmother, which wasn't the sort of profound literature I usually consider worthy of attention and for that very reason, surprise surprise, was a joy to read. It's better to read light things for fun than spend time not reading heavy things, if that makes sense. It sort of doesn't. That's the point I guess. If you'll only read weighty novels but can't concentrate on them that amounts to not reading + desire to read. I might have to work back up to Dostoevsky just as I'm going to have to work back up to being independent. In the meantime, I'm going to practice watching telly.