Wednesday, August 17, 2016

Dropped my dinner—again

One of the effects of medication and psychological injury is dropping things; my fingers spring open of their own accord and whatever I am holding falls.

I just dropped my dinner. Sure, it was just toast but it dropped onto the kitchen floor and, well, that toast is toast.

That's the bullshit I have to put up with for being injured. Dropping things or not not being able to do things that require fine hand-eye coordination because of trembling fingers—another manifestation of wound and medication.

It is what it is. I wouldn't change what happened but, fuck me, I am so sick of dropping food because of it—or the dropping of anything else I am holding. 


(shakes trembling fist at imagined amorphous black smoke cloud representing injury enhanced by medication).

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