Editorial rights purchased from iStock. Photo by Michail_Petrov-96
I recently injured my left arm. The doctor says I have tennis elbow. I don’t play tennis. Apparently, 90% of the people diagnosed with tennis elbow don’t play tennis either. Go figure.
Tennis elbow, in case you don’t know, is a layman’s term for you can’t use your arm. The recommended treatment for tennis elbow is to stop using your arm — and your hand. Which means I can’t type. This is problematic. I’m a writer. I don’t do it for money, I do it because I’m compelled. Writing isn’t just how I communicate with others — it’s how I communicate with myself. Telling me not to write is like telling me not to think. So, you can imagine how thrilled I was when the doctor told me the time it might take to heal my arm could be anywhere from two months to two years.
Granted, the people who heal in two years do everything wrong and the people who heal in two months do everything right. Like most people, I’m somewhere in between. The two-month mark passed before I even saw the doctor. Our healthcare system is partly to blame — I’ll spare you the details. The other culprit was denial.
As someone who is usually pretty good at handling things, this is hard for me to admit. In my last corporate job, as an operations analyst, I developed a reputation for being fearless. If there was a problem, I would find a solution and a way to implement it, despite whatever resistance I might face.
I retired from the corporate world in December of 2020 — so I could write. Spider Robinson was correct, God is an iron. Not that I believe in God. For me, God is just a convenient one-syllable word I can use to reference the apparent intelligence of the universe and everything I can’t control.
I say “apparent” because it seems at times as if there is a plan but at other times it’s just plain f****** chaos. This is one of those times. (My dictation software won’t let me swear. It puts the asterisks in for me. LOL. It’s trying to save me from myself.)
I resisted the idea of dictation for years. I was afraid if I got used to talking to myself I would do it in public. I didn’t want to be known as that crazy lady who wanders around mumbling nonsense. My fears were unfounded — mumbling doesn’t cut it. If I want to be understood at all, I have to speak like a robot. If I use my normal speaking voice the software stutters, repeats, and screws everything up.
I purchased the software from a company called Braina. I tried Google dictation software first, but the mic wouldn’t stay on. When I did a Google search for the best dictation software, it gave Braina five stars — which is b*******.
Braina also comes with a virtual assistant. She’s not helpful. She does know how to spell my name, but she hasn’t bothered to share that with the dictation software. On the plus side, I can use Braina to dictate into third-party software. This means I can dictate directly into a Word document or into an email. Unfortunately, I can’t sign my name.
When I say my name, which is spelled Laurie, she (Braina) types Lori. When I speak slowly to emphasize the “au” sound (my name rhymes with sorry — as in “sorry Laurie,” or “Hey Laur, get in the car,”) Braina types in liar or lure or lore.
Braina is not the only one who has trouble with my name.
Pretty much everyone says Lori — the way the Brits say “truck.” But that’s not the way you say my name. This was my mother’s idea. She meant well, but it was something of a curse. Whenever I met someone new, I had two choices: I could either correct them or listen to them mispronounce my name forever.
When I was in school, my friends corrected people for me. That was nice. Now I just don’t bother. But that’s partly why, as a writer, I use my initials instead of my first name.
Interestingly , when I ask the Braina assistant what my name is she spells it correctly. In fact, I detected a note of derision when I asked her who I was. Apparently, she was insulted by the question. How could I accuse her of not knowing something so basic? (I received no response when I asked why she didn’t share that information with the dictation software.)
I shouldn’t be offended, however. As it happens, she hasn’t shared her own name with the dictation software. When I say Braina, she types Brianna or Rana or Brayna. I’ve attempted to correct her errors using voice commands, but the results have been spotty at best. When I say, “title case on,” she doesn’t turn it on. Instead, she prints the words “title case on.” The one time she did turn it on, she capitalized every word in the sentence including “of” and “the.” (Just now, when I tried to add the previous two words I put in quotes, she typed “call Panza.”)
I should be grateful. I am right-handed and I injured my left arm. So, I’m making corrections that she can’t handle using my right hand. Originally, I tried typing everything with my right hand, but that was a mistake. After just one day, my entire right arm started burning.
I can use my right arm for other things though. I can empty the dishwasher, pull clothes over my head, and hold the hairdryer — but I can’t hold the brush. (Yes, my hairstyle has changed.) I can take the sheets off the bed, but I can’t put them back on after I wash them. I can pull the garbage out of the can, but I can’t tie the top unless I squeeze the bag between my legs and pull the drawstring with my right hand only. I also use my teeth a lot to open things.
I’m told most people with tennis elbow get it from poor ergonomic (organ namik to her) positioning during repetitive tasks. Not so with me. I got it from a single traumatic injury. I got it from breaking down a cardboard box.
If you’ve ever worried about injuring yourself with a box cutter while trying to open one of those ridiculous plastic packages, forget it. That’s obvious. The minute I pick up a box cutter I think of the damage I could do to myself. I’m on high alert. I pay attention.
But let me tell you something about extra-large cardboard boxes: they aren’t meant to come apart. I don’t know what kind of glue they use on the seams, but the term “super glue” doesn’t do it justice. I bought a large canvas piece of art in December. I tried to break down the box using a box cutter. I cut through all the creases, and I got all but one piece down to a size that would fit in the recycling bin. But one glued seam was too thick for my cutter. So, I tried to pull it open.
It wasn’t so much the pull, as the twist that accompanied it. If I had pulled straight back I think I would have been okay. I was in pretty good shape at the time. I’d been using a rowing machine regularly, and my arms and back were strong. Now I can’t pick up a coffee cup let alone use the rower.
When I went to physical therapy, I learned that I can turn my palm up and I can turn my palm down, but I can’t make a fist and I can’t use my thumb or my forefinger, thus rendering my left arm basically useless. (So much for the opposable thumb.)
This is where patience is helpful. It is also something I’m unfamiliar with. When I was working at Dolby, my team did the Clifton Strengths assessment (“system space documents” to her). I scored the highest in the “Activator” category:
“People who are especially talented in the activator theme can make things happen by turning thoughts into action. They are often impatient.”
Apparently, my left arm is trying to turn me into someone else. I could view this as a betrayal. In fact, if I am honest, I have. But now I’m seeing it a little differently. Now I see it as a metaphor — a metaphor for what’s going on in the world right now.
The left is handicapped, and the right is taking over. But the right can’t do what the left can, so as the right tries to take over from the left, attempting to accomplish what it doesn’t have the skills or coordination to do well, progress is stymied.
Just as I never consciously realized how much I did with my left hand, the political left has been largely taken for granted. This is insane, given all the things the left has brought us: the Civil Rights Movement, the minimum wage, labor unions, the Affordable Care Act, access to abortion and family planning, and the list goes on.
Yet the political right is doing its best to destroy the left entirely. There are no negotiations and no compromises. There is no dialogue.
And this is where my metaphor falls apart.
I am consciously nurturing my left arm so it heals and can function properly. Whereas the political right has no desire for the right and left to work hand-in-hand. They want complete and total domination.
They just might get it, thanks to three men who have done more to destroy our country than any other people in history. They are Rupert Murdock, Donald Trump, and Mark Zuckerberg. Murdock legitimized fake news, Trump politicized culture, and Zuckerberg taps into our limbic systems daily to shove fake news and culture politics down our throats.
There is no truth — there is only appearance and opinion.
In the real world, the war in Ukraine rages on. While the people of that country are being raped, maimed, tortured, and murdered, the leaders of the so-called free world offer platitudes, praise, and standing ovations.
Zelenskyy is a hero — but for all we say we’re doing, he will likely die one.
Yesterday I heard that the United States is finally sending 100 million dollars in Javelin missiles to Ukraine. That’s good, but this war started on February 24th. Yesterday was April 6th. Biden knew this was coming before it even started. Why did it take this long to give them what they need?
Ah, right. I should be patient. After all, Putin will be held accountable. Everyone says so.
When will that happen? After everyone left in Ukraine is dead and the entire country is in ruins? And when will Rupert Murdoch, Donald Trump, and Mark Zuckerberg be held accountable? Anybody?
I’m guessing if it happens at all it will take at least as long as it will take my arm to heal — two months to two years. Right.
They say patience is a virtue. Are they sure about that?