Fingers

            I’m a little worried about my fingers.  They seem to be confused at the computer keyboard and on my flute.

            Perhaps the old fingers have become dyslexic.  Transcribing my grandparents’ letters, how many times have I typed “Dear Geroge” instead of “Dear George”?  And what about all the “int he’s” instead of “in the’s”?  I’ve been dropping first letters and last letters of words and rearranging all the letters in between.  It is true that I’m typing as fast as I can, intensely interested in their story.

            Flute fingerings that posed no problem a few weeks ago are scrambled now.  And sometimes, though my eyes are trained on the music, I’m not really seeing it.  Why am I fumbling phrases that I previously mastered?  It doesn’t seem right that one measly week of not practicing should cause such havoc.  I slowed things down to a snail’s pace this morning and discovered, at least, that the big problem in the high A-F-D sequence is my right pointer, which wants to stay down instead of go up. 

            In the meantime, my brain feels blurry, my arms ache, and my knuckles hurt.  I’ll pass all of it off to the fibromyalgia, which has been flaring this week (and which provides a great excuse for extra naps wrapped in my new purple fleece blanket).  Now that I’ve practiced my flute and blogged, it’s time for the pre-lunch nap, not to be confused with the post-getting up-and-having-breakfast nap or the mid-afternoon snooze.

            Or maybe I’ll indulge in a little more coffee instead and return to January 1916:  “Dearest Geroge George . . .”