I noted on my Facebook page and on Twitter how writing 8 000 words made my fingers ache. The next day, I wrote my regular 3 000. That evening, after I had shut down the computer and left work I began to notice an acute pain in my wrist. It grew steadily worse the (very long because there was a snow storm) bus ride home.
By the time I got home I was in such agony I complained to my sick flatmate. Yeah, she was ill, and I was complaining to her. I'm a terrible, terrible person.
In my defence, my wrist was swollen and it hurt like mad. It honestly feels like I had fallen on it, without ever actually having fallen on it.
It still hurts like mad. I currently have it wrapped tightly in a boxer's wrist wrap, which I typically use for kick boxing. This is in lieu of a proper wrist brace. It's not perfect, but it'll do for now.
The good news is that I can still type. The bad news is that I cannot type fast, and some of the movements involving typing are quite painful. For example, reaching my forefinger to hit the 'y' key.
I should probably take it easy on the writing today. I'll try, but knowing my luck, I'll be so flooded with story that I won't be able to do anything else but! It reminds me of a quote that I read last night from Neil Gaiman:
"When writing a novel, that's pretty much entirely what life turns into: 'House burned down. Car stolen. Cat exploded. Did 1500 easy words, so all in all it was a pretty good day." — Neil Gaiman
I laughed so hard when I read this because it's so very true. I like this quote so much, it's going right to the quote of the week space at the top of this blog next week.
On that note, the sooner I get today's writing over with, the sooner I can rest my wrist. I should get on that.
Have a lovely Wednesday everyone!