October 28, Third Age 3020
I dropped my pen again…
…and wrote:
Sometimes it seems as if my finger is still there;
But the pen falls from my infirm grasp,
Falls from trembling fingers, the surety of long custom all lost;
But it is gone, and the fallen pen
Must find a new resting place in my hand,
And I must find a new grip
And try to write again.
And as I wrote the last time I commented upon such an occurrence, a year and a half ago: "Unremarkable, really; all I had to do was adjust and rest the quill on my middle finger instead. But for some silly reason, the incident struck me as being deeply momentous, though I will not attempt to conjecture what it might subconsciously seem a coincidental symbol for. Or rather, I will not expound upon it at great length, because I am being ridiculous to think" that finding a new way of holding a pen is obscurely like – like finding a new grip on life. Like learning how to live again.
Yet…perhaps it is. Perhaps training myself to write with a missing finger is like learning how to live again, missing the part of me that truly loved life. Perhaps it is like starting over, beginning anew, reborn from the ashes of my finger and my soul.
Still – my writing will always be slower now, and my handwriting a little messier…
~~~~~~~~~
Author's Note: Part 2 of Chapter 8, in case you don't remember that long ago. I'm not even sure if I do… Argh. Did it again – dropped off the face of the earth for several months. This seemed like a good day to reappear. Why? Because it's March 25, of course! Ring Day!
I dropped my pen again…
…and wrote:
Sometimes it seems as if my finger is still there;
But the pen falls from my infirm grasp,
Falls from trembling fingers, the surety of long custom all lost;
But it is gone, and the fallen pen
Must find a new resting place in my hand,
And I must find a new grip
And try to write again.
And as I wrote the last time I commented upon such an occurrence, a year and a half ago: "Unremarkable, really; all I had to do was adjust and rest the quill on my middle finger instead. But for some silly reason, the incident struck me as being deeply momentous, though I will not attempt to conjecture what it might subconsciously seem a coincidental symbol for. Or rather, I will not expound upon it at great length, because I am being ridiculous to think" that finding a new way of holding a pen is obscurely like – like finding a new grip on life. Like learning how to live again.
Yet…perhaps it is. Perhaps training myself to write with a missing finger is like learning how to live again, missing the part of me that truly loved life. Perhaps it is like starting over, beginning anew, reborn from the ashes of my finger and my soul.
Still – my writing will always be slower now, and my handwriting a little messier…
~~~~~~~~~
Author's Note: Part 2 of Chapter 8, in case you don't remember that long ago. I'm not even sure if I do… Argh. Did it again – dropped off the face of the earth for several months. This seemed like a good day to reappear. Why? Because it's March 25, of course! Ring Day!