I haven't slept all night and I'm so tired that the simple act of switching which hand I used to twist the top off a prescription bottle almost caused me to swallow a childproof cap instead of the morning meds in question, but I have an appointment to get my thumb looked at in just about forty minutes and my mother has loaned me her copy of Boileau-Narcejac's D'entre les morts (1954), currently reprinted under its much better-known movie tie-in title of Vertigo, which I haven't read since 2009 and I am looking forward to finding out if all the noir I've watched since then makes a difference to my reading of the novel. But mostly I need to catch this bus.
Holy God, is it inconvenient typing with one hand in a brace. Somehow when the nurse practitioner said "splint," I envisioned something smaller. I've seen vambraces that were less hardcore. I do not know if I will get any movies written about today. My keyboard-intensive job is going to be fun. I think I'm going to see about lying down.