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.