Talk to the Wrist

I have less than ten minutes — according to my wrist/hand therapist — to play computer, write a post, or otherwise communicate with my peeps.

I got in trouble last week for doing what I thought I was allowed to do, which I was told was everything.  Boy, did I get a lecture!  So, if you’ve tuned in and day after day gotten the same old stale post, IT’S NOT MY FAULT.  It’s that mean old wrist lady with the evil eyes and her workable hands moving over her keyboard typing in messages on the computer screen I can’t see. Evil, evil, evil.

So, I’m sneaking in a quick post just to let my friends know that I’m still here.  The wrist is still here.  And in real life, I’m a very sneaky person (with a still-sore wrist) and the ugliest scar you’ve ever seen running the length of all my wristiness.

Perhaps when the poor scar heals enough, I’ll have a tattoo commemorating its ugliness inscribed all over it.  At least tattoos are cool, or so I’m told.  But then again, scars can tell a grand story.  I think mine shall be about pirates and crocodiles and maybe, oh just maybe, jungle rot fever for good measure.

Okay, my cumulative ten minutes are over.  At least I’m five short of my fifteen minutes of Warholl fame.

Stay tuned, because I’m almost back to my normal self.

P.S.  Has anyone read The Story of Edgar Sawtelle ?  (I loved the writing in this first novel by David Wroblewski, but was disappointed by the unnecessary ending.)  Any recommendations for wrist-healing reading?  The suggestion box is available.


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