Cast Adrift

The knife has fallen and my left hand is in a cast. I am relegated to typing with one hand. Do not do well with being partially shackled. Have all these thoughts I wish to instantly dash off, but they are stuck in a cluster in my mind. Don’t feel like dealing with new software (Dragon) to do so. And my smart phone is a terrible listener and just pisses me off.

Am driving with one hand, which should make you all a bit nervous, but I putter along like a granny, so you’ll just be irritated. Did work on a short story. It involved my right hand ticking along and a few moves of my heavily bandaged left hand hovering over the keyboard and striking gingerly at each key, but I grew weary of the slow torture and husband’s fussing. He said I had probably screwed up the surgery.

But I prevail and meet new adventures in handling, or not handling things every day.

Last night, I went to make the last snack of the day on my starvation diet. I put water, ice and protein powder into the glass, over-sized measuring cup atop the blender. It was an old-ish model and tended to vibrate and move around the counter. To steady it, I placed my luggy cast on top of it. As I pushed “Blend,” an ear-splitting noise occurred, a horrible grumbling and clattering. It was if the blender had come alive: the little, round plastic thing through which you pour stuff into the canister was apparently not secure. The weight of my cast had pushed it into the deadly blade.¬† My heart racing, I hit the “Off” button, but was pushed aside by my frantic husband, get back, get back, and together, we looked inside to see a mass of bumpy vanilla liquid full off what we believed to be ice and plastic. My husband¬† retrieved a thinly-webbed colander (still frowning) and poured the conglomeration into it, then washed it all into the sink, revealing a bed of glistening plastic chards. Ruined blender, yes, but my greater concern was that I could not have my last snack of the day, as I had used the last packet of protein powder. I went to bed hangry, hoping I could sleep through the pangs, but awoke in the night and snarfed down a cinnamon bun.

Another fun thing: Showering with one hand in a trash bag. Makes me think of my friend’s grandpa who was a one-armed banjo player. Handling my conditioner and not falling down to break a hip is performance enough.

One upside: using it as a weapon. Thought about using it last night at my nephew’s basketball game on a mouthy father from the opposing team who was sitting right behind me.

Seems the best thing to do is slog along and catch up on reading now, all those novels I didn’t finish in grad school. (Sssshhh.) Bumble along at a glacial pace. Might give my pathetic smart phone another chance. Wish I had a scribe to follow me around, but that would just be weird.

As David Gates said at the end of each packet letter, onward and upward. But maybe, a bit more slowly.



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