Two and a half weeks ago, I was making dinner, much like I do every night. It was the end of the work week, and I was feeling a little irritable and tired. When scraping out the last bits of the pasta sauce, the spatula got stuck in the jar. Then the handle pulled out of the rubber scraper. The stress building on top of the normal end of the week stuff added to the picture in my mind, well, let's just say my enthusiasm to get-that-spatula-out overrode my sense of caution. One broken jar and a deep, jagged cut on my thumb later, I was emergency-bound for a long wait and six stitches.
Suddenly, it felt like I couldn't do anything I wanted to. I couldn't put on a bra. I couldn't type. I couldn't write. Everything I tried involved heaping amounts of pain. Plus, I had planned on beginning a new series of black and white paintings. Argh!
My plans for the black and white pieces required a fully-functional dominant hand, but that didn't mean that I was going to sit idly by and internally mock myself for my ridiculous action (I did that too) while not getting anything done. Nay! I was going to channel the constant, throbbing pain and the challenge of learning how to do things with my left hand. It took two weeks of clumsy painting and writing descriptions (sometimes repeated) on my experiences, but I managed to finish a piece using only my left hand. It may be a bit trippy, but I feel quite accomplished.