Okay, I admit it. I'm sitting here tapping my feet, twisting locks of hair, and going a little bit crazy. I look down at this hard piece of plaster and bandages engulfing my whole left hand except for the thumb (which might be useful except for the fact that it's disconnected from the rest just enough to be in a constant state of paraesthesia). I keep thinking the day I have my painting hand back to full recovery can't come soon enough. You know what I miss? Washing dishes. Opening a jam jar. Typing with both hands. Buttoning my pants (yes, I've pulled out my entire wardrobe of elastic-waisted bottoms for this week. Real fashionable!). Putting my hair in a ponytail. Applying the perfect sweep of eye liner. I even miss working out (something I never would have admitted to b…
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