give my arm time to heal and I've been icing, attempting to use a sling (although that was an exercise in futility), carrying a light weight back-pack and no purse, taking enough ibuprofin to turn my stomach inside out and avoiding my little Mac. And it does feel better. Not great, but better. I keep wondering though, if it just feels better because now it just goes numb!
Yesterday, I went to Ikea (pronounced Eekayah) and bought a new office chair that allows me to sit higher and that seems to help. The problem is, it's not a fancy leather one with brakes on the rollers. I live in a hot, 400-year-old apartment whose old stone floors and support beams sag with the weight of time. My chair wants to roll to the middle of the room whenever I sit down and when I stand up, the sweat produced from sitting on plastic causes the chair to make a valiant attempt to stand with me. I see another writing injury in my future! One day they're going to find me on the other side of the room, my head in the fishbowl, my ass in the air with the wheels of the chair that is still stuck to it, turning slowing in the breeze. This is really not the way I pictured my demise. I've now set up a little chair corral on the floor consisting of file boxes and the litter box and have the fan pointed directly at my rear end. Needless to say, it's not a perfect set-up but it's gotten me back here. Which is a very good thing for me.
I have another excuse for my absence as well. My two girlfriends, (the 3 of us met while living in a convent in London in 1980) came to France to grace me with their unfailing friendship. I have seen Jeanmarie almost every year since our London days. But it's been 17 years and one divorce each since I've seen Vicky. It was a glorious 2 weeks and I was not willing to take the time out to painfully pound out an article.
So I'm back on the horse so to speak. It's really just a sticky, cheap, black plastic office chair, but a saddle nonethless. And I'm so happy to say "see y'all tomorrow".