Okay, here’s the thing. The scar from my surgery is clinging to my wrist bone like an alien face-hugger. It won’t let go! So, I’m in physical therapy three times a week, with self-manipulation of my poor, beleaguered wrist three times a day.
So what does a writer do when she can’t do anything? She has a glass of chardonnay (for medicinal purposes, of course) , and smiles at her husband’s fascinating efforts to fix what he clearly can’t fix. Bless him!
In the meantime, I’m researching, revising, rewriting, and otherwise trying to look busy while not actually doing anything.
Next week, I’ll probably suck it up and have something done to my wrist that will actually fix it. I’m told that means litterally sucking my scar away from my wrist bone.
Okay, okay. I’m having another glass of wine just to erase that thought from my bewildered brain.
I hope you’re all doing better at this point than I am.