So remember when I told you about learning to eat left handed? About that…
Two weeks ago, I fell during an ice skating lesson and broke my wrist. It’s a nice, clean radial fracture, but you cannot imagine the pain. Worst in my entire life, I kid you not.
Since that fateful Saturday, I’ve been stuck in a Short Arm Fracture Brace, Open Thumb. Which is actually a modern, removable hard cast that you can get wet. Regardless of those amazing features, I still can’t actually use my right hand. My dominate hand.
So, I’ve been eating (and everything-else-ing) left-handed.
I’m totally over it.
But not really because I have to spend at least 3 more weeks in the brace. Doctor’s orders and all that crap.
In high school, I won a choreography award, beating out dozens of young women who had been dancing since they could walk. I had only been studying for three years.
In college, I was very nearly persuaded to change my major from education to art. I changed it mathematics. I should have chosen art.
I worked as a legal assistant during one summer break from college. I loved picking juries, and I was pretty good at it. I took the LSAT in 2009 and scored 162. I don’t want to be a lawyer.
I ran away from home at age 4. Next door to my grandmother’s house. I only packed bikini bottoms.
As a child, I deeply believed that the only way to go to heaven was to save someone’s life.
When I’m having a panic attack, I silently repeat “Hold Your Shit Together” until I can breathe again. It almost always works.
My ears are uneven. My pierces were placed in a different location on each lobe so that earrings would look even.
I have co-written two books. My name does not appear on either cover, though my first name appears in the dedication of both.
When I’m alone, I read books aloud in an English accent. And I make whatever gesture or facial expression is being described.
I learned to eat with my left hand to keep from bumping elbows with my college roommate who always sat on my right at meals.
I really, really love being alive.