No. I really, really am. Why else would I be trying to come up with words that can be typed with only the right hand? Why else would I be wracked with pain with no one to blame but myself? Why, why, WHY? you say?
Because, well, ahem.
I got mad.
I got really mad at the damned washing machine. Yeah. The one that broke last week. Yes, it’s still broken. My husband/repairman promised it would be working by Saturday. Just give me time, he said, to take it apart, see what’s what. No problem, I said. I can wait. (He’s a great fixer-person; I rarely have to hire anyone to fix ANYTHING, and for that I am eternally grateful.) So his promise to fix it this weekend – this has been a crazy busy week for both of us, so nothing could possibly get done prior to the weekend – was fine with me. I can wait.
I said that already, didn’t I?
So, anyway. Waiting, waiting. Yay, it’s almost Saturday! He can pick up the part and everything will be fine, right? RIGHT?
No. Because suddenly I got impatient. So last night, when he was outside, I tried the machine to see if it had miraculously fixed itself. And because I’m of the school of thought that hitting something upside its head fixes pretty much anything, I laid into the side of the machine. With my hand. Hard.
The damn thing pretty much punched me back. And now my hand is throbbing — from the base of my thumb all the way up my elbow.
And no. It still isn’t working. It will be, tomorrow. If I can be patient enough to wait until then. Patience. It’s a hard thing to come by, isn’t it?
For some more than others.
P.S. Did you know that ‘stewardesses’ and ‘reverberated’ are two of the longest words you can type with just your left hand? Yep. And they really, really hurt.