My hands been sore ever since it got stitches. Although the cut's healed nicely, it has seemed like it was swollen and bruised under the cut. Any pressure on my hand, especially leaning directly on it, ached. I haven't wanted to ride a bike. There's been no downward dogs. Essentially, I've been un-essentially handicapped.
On this fine rainy day, I don't have to work. I don't have to go out and play. Thanks, rain. I've got nothing to do besides try to figure out how to enjoy myself. There's been some reading, some sandwiches, E! True Hollywood Story: Oprah, and most recently, there's been some stretching. The past few weeks being peak season, I've been working my booty off to try and support the international jet set life I aspire to, and it's been making me uptight in mind and body. I wake-up in the middle of the night and my mind races, "Did I drop off 223's ribs?" Nightmares of forgotten food haunt waitresses around the world. Physically, I'm developing TMJ and a grandma walk. My muscles are so tight and my feet so sore, people must think I'm Estelle Getty from behind in a blonde wig. Thanks to this lovely day off, I can try to turn my hobble into its former sashay. I'm limbering up, when it occurs to me that maybe my hand isn't bruised. Maybe it's just tight. Maybe nothing has been wrong all along, but a fear to use it, causing me to lose it.
On that inspirational and jazzy slogan, I'm going to return to stretching. Keep on, folks. You can do more than you can ever realize.
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