My Fingers

Yesterday, I was asked if my top knuckle closest to the fingernail, was red swollen and painful. Bingo!! I actually hadn’t looked at them closely it only be a 9 o’clock in the morning. All of them! All eight of them, inflamed. They feel like they’re frying after being stripped by a wire puller.

This survey was by The Canadian longitudinal study on aging that I’ve been participating for now looks like 3 + 3 and three that would be nine years.

I did appreciate the number of questions, because many of my answers show that there is more “right with me then wrong with me,” as Dr. Jon Kabat-Zinn would say. I did most poorly in the follow-up questions regarding arthritis, and later mental illness.

I have used my fingers to type most of my life. Today I am dictating my words so that I don’t need to strike the keys for the end of my fingers. Dictation still has a long way to go to catch-up with typing with my fingers. It’s as if my writing process can only happen if it starts in my brain and then rolls out through my fingers. Composing using my voice is proving to be a challenge. As clichés roll off my tongue. I wonder how something so important can sounds so boring as the above three paragraphs. Is another cliché; I have work to do. Well first draft. All I got time for.