That would be me.
First off, thanks for all the great info on repetitive stress/carpal tunnel. I devour that kind of stuff. Especially when believe me, I’m fairly convinced it’s far worse.
Secondly, I did go to a general practioner who looked at me with roughly the same interest I would demonstrate were I sitting in on a 90-minute lecture for different types of knots one can make with rope.
He said: If it’s still bothering you in two weeks, come back.
Okay… great. Thanks. I will. MAN…I FEEL BETTER!
I figured while I was there, I’d also mentioned the frequency with which I tend to urinate, (in a nutshell, I’m worse than a newborn when it comes to ‘sleeping through the night’ or making it through a three-hour movie like “Pirate’s of the Caribbean” without making three visits to the AMC stalls…) and then, roughly every 30 minutes or so, for most of the day.
He had me give a nice sample, then the lab results came back and he said: “Well, you don’t have a bladder infection or diabetes… so I don’t know what to tell you. Is the frequency causing a problem in your lifestyle in general?”
Well, gee… I don’t know. Except for the fact that three trips during one movie meant I had NO CLUE as to what the film was about. Would you call THAT a problem?
(Though I hear people who’ve seen the complete film, even without multiple bathroom breaks, say the same thing…)
So yesterday, while my weakend hand tried desperately to make magic with the mouse, I called Tara at some point and just went on and on and on and on. I think eventually, I might have tossed in the phrase: “But what do YOU think of me?” but I can’t back that up.
And that’s when I realized: you are simply fanning the flames of self pity.
But you know, there are days. Those days when all the freakin’ “What I know for sure” thoughts of gratitude are about as scarce as speed metal fans at a Howard Jones concert. And on such days, all I want to do is get the bonfire of despair going so strongly that people as far away as California will see the smoke.
I feel better today. I’ve managed to turn on my internal sprinkler system.
And that can only mean one thing: I am out of lame fire/water/depression metaphors for today.