Okay, so I knew I was addicted. I have gone so far as limit myself to checking incoming online info to three times a day. (It was amazing how much time THAT freed up!) What an eye-opener! I didn’t know realize how different my life would be.
This time, though, it isn’t a test and I didn’t give it up willingly. My wrist is giving me fits. I finally got the diagnosis and it isn’t serious, but it’s painful, which is a huge behavior modifier. I don’t do elective pain. And so…I haven’t been able to write. The limit of my pain tolerance is reached answering email and ordering online… this by stacking unsorted papers on my desk to lift both the keyboard and the mouse to a position in which my wrist is level and straight. Bummer!
It’s the silence of my keyboard that has taken the longest to tolerate. I miss writing. I have an idea a minute, I run to the computer, I lift my hand; and I whine in pain and self-pity.
Writing thoughts and feelings is an interesting phenomenon. The path to self-expression claims my thinking time for a good part of the day, which leaves me a bit antisocial. As a writer, I must keep my best ideas to myself. Not that anyone is going to steal my thoughts. It’s just that when the ideas are rushing around my head, if they don’t come out of my fingers, they are going to come out of my mouth. And then…goodbye thoughts!
I think of them as little kids coming home from school. The first person they meet hears about their day in unexpurgated terms. After that first telling, the story goes downhill fast. If you’re the third person to hear it, you are getting a severely condensed version. That’s why I always wanted to be home when my kids got there. And that’s why I want my fingers to do the talking.
For the past two weeks I have avoided deep conversations with my friends and family. I have talked about the weather and the season. I have commented on clothing, fashion and reality TV; but I haven’t come close to expressing myself. I am saving that for my computer.
Is that sad, or what!