Why? you ask. What's that? You didn't ask? Don't care. I'mma tell you anyway.
I was sitting in class the other night, while some classmates were presenting a presentation. My mind was wandering. That makes me sound like a bad student, but I'm not. I had this sudden flash of, "What would happen to me if I had some kind of accident and my left hand got chopped off?" (I'm extremely left-handed. As in, my right hand holds the scissors, but that's as productive as it gets. Some days I wonder if it's even qualified to shift my car out of "park." Maybe I should move to England. No, then it's primary resposibility would be flipping the bird at offending drivers. It might screw that up. Then I would look really dumb.) Anyway. I thought it might be a good idea to learn to write with my right hand, just in case I lose the left. It wasn't working. My right hand has the motor skills of a 3 year old. No exaggeration. If I wasn't sitting in the middle of class, I might have investigated the handwriting potential of my feet. I might do that later.
So I told my bestie about this thought that I had, and sent a picture of my efforts at being a right-handed woman. Her response? "You'be been spending too much time with 6th graders."
It has come to this. She's completely right. That is something I would have texted her after a group. "This one kid was writing with his opposite hand because his good hand might get lopped off someday!"
I'm cutting myself some slack. I had some medical dog drama. I've told the story too many times already and I don't want to re-live the event again. Just let it be said that at some point in his 11 or so years on this earth, the little guy ate a sewing needle, with a length of thread attached. The doctor performed a miracle and he is home and very upset that I need to give him meds 5 times a day. It was an intensely emotional week, full of fear, despair that I would lose my guy, astonishment, relief, happiness when we were reunited, aggravation when he decided to be allergic to a medication, near hallucinations due to sleep deprivation, and worry. He is on the road to recovery and I watch him like a hawk, because if he ate a damn needle, who knows what other freak things he's been snacking on.
I'm owning that fact that I sometimes think like a 12 year old. I deserve it. It sucks to be an adult all the time. This week is proof.