I cut my hand open today. To be exact, I was pulled into a metal door jamb by my dog and scraped two layers of skin from my index finger. And because of my awesome aversion to blood, shock set in almost immediately.
Yep, that’s right, dizziness combined with nausea and sweating in equal parts. Loads of fun let me tell you. The one thing I thought as my head tumbled between my knees in the “I’m not gonna faint” position was how am I going to type with a bum hand?
A startling question since I’ve been hosting an epic-scale pity party for the past two months, the theme being, “Everyone’s making it but me” complete with depression draught and procrastination pie. Maybe scraping up the layers of emotional epidermis forced inspiration to flow to the surface.
I think it’s time to work on a new book. What do you say?