Even though my right wrist has never regained it’s full, pre-t.b.i. flexibility and reliance, I still find myself hemming and hawing when it comes to buying a specifically left-handed mouse. I’m not sure my brain will go along with such a dramatic shift in focus. I’m not sure it has a choice, though. And so, they quietly slip away, my little bastions of “normalcy”; I don’t even think anyone knows or thinks of what It does to a person, to see his hitherto well-lived life fall into a bottomless chasm of “used-to-be’s."
a blog that is also meant to serve as a recovery journal, for this gay, Quaker, writer dealing with t.b.i., from surviving a hate crime in Sligo, Ireland, on 1.31.99.