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This post is part of my 2022 Word Project. You can read what that’s about here.

Tuesday, October 10, 2023

The universe has had its revenge. After all the talk about kicking doors, one kicked back. As I showered and dressed today, the evil bathroom cabinet handle jumped out and smacked into the back of my hand so hard and in just the right spot that I felt it all the way up to my shoulder.

Whatever came out of my mouth in that moment is surely not something that can be repeated here. Ralph, who is used to my periodic outbursts, calmly asked, “You ok?”

Nope, I was definitely not ok.

I couldn’t move my arm or close my fingers. Instead of improving it traveled right into my skull and squeezed out a few more choice words. As my father might put it, it was a 400-curse event.

We put cold compresses on it. I took painkillers. Eventually it subsided to a raging throb, enough that I could continue my day.

I mention this not to tell you a story about it but to alert you to the fact that this will be short and maybe not-so-sweet today, as I have just recently regained my ability to type.

I cannot hold a pencil. Or open a jar. Or tie my shoes. I ate lunch with my left hand, as it was my right that was inconveniently demolished.

On the plus side, I’ve read that using your non-dominant hand is good for your brain. It fires up new neural connections or something, sort of like taking a different road to a familiar destination. I expect to be marginally more intelligent by tomorrow.

In the meantime, this will have to suffice in lieu of my usually brilliant chatter.

The good news is I can close my fingers again, if not grip anything, and the back of my hand only looks like a molehill and not a mountain. And since the painkillers have worn off I’m going with anesthetic the way nature intended: a double pour of bourbon.

I’ll be back with your regularly scheduled program tomorrow. And in case you were wondering, yes, I did kick the cabinet door. It felt pretty good.

Photo: ready to take my medicine.