Though I know it is pointless to ask "why" about anything, it's one of those things that creeps up on you when you're not paying attention.

Sometimes I'm sure this whole affair is no big deal, just a thing that happened. Other times it feels like punishment, bad karma. But most often it feels like a riddle, and that my hand won't get right until I figure out the answer, and that I'm too dense to get it.

My stuck finger hasn't improved much. But I finally looked at the first xrays today, thanks to Lisa, and though it was upsetting and I got nauseous, I did not pass out. That's a big deal on my record.

I drew what I can remember seeing. The finger bone broke off and pushed back on the joint, damaging that too. It was a mess. Now it's all the scar tissue on the tendons from the fall and the surgery that's keeping it from moving.

Other then those involved with my recovery, I'm having a hard time talking at all, except to my hand. Since the accident I've noticed that it feels like it has its own soul, maybe because it doesn't feel like my hand the way my hand used to feel a part of me. So I talk to it and do a lot of apologizing. And I feel like maybe that's not as weird as it may sound after continuing to read Clarissa's writing about hands...

...those parts of our bodies that are like two small human beings in and of themselves. In olden times the fingers were likened to legs and arms and the wrist joint to the head. Those beings can dance, they can sing. I once clapped candence with A great flamenco guitarist. In flamenco the palms of the hands speak, they make sounds that are words, like "Faster, oh beautiful one, soar now, be deeper, ah, feel me, feel this music, feel this and this and this." The hands are beings in their own right.