Oy, vey. The things writers do to connect with the world while they're supposed to be working in voluntary, solitary, confinement. A yard or garage sale may bring in more cash, and face to face human contact to boot. I'll come clean right here and now, I've got some stuff stashed away elsewhere as Dutchess in Seattle.
It was 3:33 a.m. when I woke up. No household chores (too noisy), no prep for yard sale (same reason) and after reading Saturday's newspaper (how come I missed the funnies? What Did I Do on Saturday?) and Monday's as well, the urge to blog surfaces again.
In the summer of 2001 my right hand and arm went on strike. My Physical Therapist said: "Between writing, painting, cooking, cleaning, gardening, pruning and stretching canvasses you've basically worn out your number one tool."
For a while I typed and painted with my left hand only. Interesting results on canvas. I learned to economize. In search for better syntax, less deletion of words, more cut, paste and copying to other places. The fewer keys to hit, the better.
No more taking notes by hand. Emailing friends took the place of writing in my journals. Time measured by key words in my calendars. Printing out email messages I decide to do way too late. So much printing to catch up with…