Struck Down in the Prime of Life
And so it was that moi, Curmudgeonette Tricoter, wrestling early this morning with 4 double-pointed needles in her quest to work round one on 64 stitches, thereby winning the Gold for the American Knitting Acrobatics team, discovered that the slight numbness in her left hand pinkie had spread to half of her ring finger and up her arm to the elbow and was starting to ache. Gack. What fresh hell is this?

Time for the orthopedist. I hope it's that nasty pinched nerve in my left shoulder blade...but the shoulder blade doesn't hurt. At the risk of being labeled a hypochondriac, it's worrisome to watch your arm grow weaker and weaker. By dinnertime, I could not securely lift a bowl with my left hand. Still typing though. Anyone with knitting-related arm-hand injuries...or nonknitting-related, for that matter...is welcome to give me their dollah-three-eighty before I call Dr. Rubman tomorrow (yes, that's really his name--great, isn't it?!)

Carpel tunnel? Nah, don't think so...although I've been doing a prodigious amount of typing and knitting recently. And shucky darns, I'm left handed too, although more ambidextrous than sinister. Or is it sinistrous?

I believe that the cure for this ailment must be a passionate, drooling, psychedelic sexual encounter. Or something like that. And not with Dr. Rubman, either.

Time for the Braves v. Cards game...one of these days I'll do a baseball blog. It's the only sport for which I am willing to glue myself to the TV. So bite me.