I wonder if it will leave a scar?
I suddenly wondered just how many times I’ve had this same thought in the last few years?

Oops!
Now I’ll admit, I was never what you’d call graceful, and I certainly couldn’t dance, but when it came to my hands, I was pretty coordinated. I played musical instruments. I juggled really well. You know that trick of patting your head with one hand and rubbing your stomach with the other? I could do that without a hitch, and I switched my hands easily.
And then I started having trouble. For most of my life I was a truly horrible cook. Really. No kidding. Just dreadful. But a few years back I finally learned how to cook and I did ok. Until I started cutting myself. I’d laugh off a slip of the knife, ha ha I’m so clumsy, but when I had to throw out part of an apple crisp because I got blood in it, I knew there was a problem. There were cuts, burns, and spills. Last week I cut my fingernail off with the knife. I’m just glad it was only my fingernail! There’s some sort of disconnect between my brain and my hands these days. I can feel that it’s tied into the brain fog, but I can’t think it through well enough to get beyond that. That figures.
Last night I had meat cooking in one pan and veggies in another. I was doing really well with the cutting. Maybe my cutting success made me let down my guard? All I know is that I reached for the handle of one pan, and somehow pressed my finger into the edge of the other pan and it took a second longer than it should have to realize what I’d done and to pull my hand back. It hurt, but I didn’t think too much of it until a few minutes later when I noticed the skin peeling away. It hurts a bit, but it doesn’t look too bad. Mostly, it just feels bad mentally, because I know how it happened.
Then again, thanks to the brain fog, I can’t remember exactly what caused the other scars on my hands (though I’m sure it’s all related to kitchen brain fog) so I’ll probably forget this one too!
Posted by chronicrants
of the year. It’s like queer Christmas, Chanukah, and birthdays all rolled into one. It’s something I look forward to for months. As I type, my fingernails are painted in rainbow colors. My buttons and mardi gras beads are ready. And I’ve been feeling crappy all week. Because my illness doesn’t care about Pride. It just acts up whenever it wants to.
fun. As usual, I was too tired to go to any of the parties at night or on Sunday, but that was ok, because I went to my top two choices: the Dyke March and the Pride Parade.
