A strange malady has befallen me. I have an aching pain in my hands, between the knuckles and the next joint. Right where the digits join the hand proper. It's in both hands. The last time I had any kind of pain like this was way back when I worked in an insurance salvage store, handwriting prices on items with a Sharpie.
Back then, the pain would wake me up at night. I had to drag myself out of bed, stumble to the kitchen, and instead of pouring myself a cup of ambition, I filled a mixing bowl with equal parts ice and water. Then I plunged my hands in, and held them there until I wanted to scream. The cold took away the aching pain. But gave me a different kind of pain. I don't know why I bothered. But at least I was proactive. Doing something besides crying into my pillow. I diagnosed myself with carpal tunnel syndrome. Since I knew what was wrong with me, there was no reason to see a doctor. Thank goodness the pain stopped after I quit handwriting prices with a Sharpie eight hours a day. I had no desire to perform surgery on myself.
I have no idea what triggered this recent pain. It's not like I've been burning up the keyboard with submissions. I have a comfortable workspace where I can rest my hands on a corner countertop to reach my keyboard. I have not been milking cows with Jon Lovitz looking over my shoulder, asking, "Doesn't that HURT them?" I have not been two-fistedly squeezing stress balls. Nor training for Olympic Tug-O-War. Nor grabbing student ears and dragging them to the office. Nor over-using a re-gifted Label Baby Junior. Nor wrapping Pudding Skin Singles. Nor signing royalty checks from Japan.
And I don't even own a Sharpie.