To a diligent digit.

hermie and me
via Daily Prompt: Mallet

Poor darling old thumb, I know you’re in pain and I’m sorry.
From the moment I first wake up, to the moment I conk out past midnight, I keep you in constant motion. Yours are the only muscles I exercise on a regular basis, and I know — no, I feel — that you’re really exhausted and sore.
Just this morning I put you to work even before my eyes had opened. I had fallen asleep on the couch, watching something instructive and quiet on TV, and I woke up to the sound of a pitchman in high dander. I don’t remember what he was trying to sell… at that hour of the morning, we’re apparently in need of rejuvenating makeup, copper frypans, cordless vacuum cleaners and Krugerrands. I just know I grabbed the remote, and started using you as a mallet, hammering on every button I could strike just to find an ignorable channel.
I may have gone back to sleep, but it wasn’t long until the alarm went off on my iPhone. You were tasked with swiping the screen, and making the damn thing shut up. Going into the kitchen, I used you to pick up a spoon and stir that life-giving cup of coffee, before slipping you into the handle of my cup, so you could carry it out to my chair. You opened my plastic container of pills, and were thankful you didn’t need to open any old-lady proof bottles. You wiped all the coffee I spit out, after I’d gagged on my daily medications.
Once I was sitting, you picked up the phone again, and went into high gear. You identified me with your prints, and tapped on the icon for Facebook. You scrolled past my memory of the day, and tapped on the little globe that retrieves my messages. You punched to see who’d reacted to every photo I’d shared. You took me to my newsfeed, and shared all the memes that made me laugh. You copied and pasted emojis. You typed out birthday messages on a minuscule little keyboard that thinks it corrects every other word, which then has to be retyped.
You opened all the other apps that I count on in the morning. You checked my bank account and paid a couple of bills. You scrolled through the Drudge Report, then tapped on the link for Hello! to check on Prince Harry and Meghan Markle. You went over to my blog site, and checked out my stats for the night. You took three more pictures of my cats. You slid over to the weather app, to tell me whether my far-away kids could expect to enjoy a sunny day.
When I had tired of my phone (which, of course, I’ll return to many times today), you accompanied me to the front door and reached into my mail box. You pulled out a lot of flyers, and tossed them out summarily (as a former copywriter, I’m always appalled at the speed with which those things are thrown in the garbage).
You then accompanied me to my desk, and picked up the mouse by my keyboard, where you’re helping me to type out this blog post, and enabling me to enjoy this excuse for not doing any housework.
Were I to attack all my chores, I’d put you to work just as diligently. You’d wipe dirty dishes… push a vacuum across the floor… help me change bedsheets and stuff pillows in their cases… open bottles of laundry detergent… change boxes of cat litter… scrub out toilets and sinks.
No wonder you’re starting to rebel! Last night you opposed me by overshooting some characters on the iPhone keyboard, and by shaking and trembling in pain. You threatened to take me on a hellride through the carpal tunnel, from which I’d never emerge unscathed.
If you do this tonight, I still won’t know what to do, but I have a proposition. If you’ll help me work a corkscrew and open a bottle of wine, I’ll make sure to have as much as I need to make me incapable of typing, or swiping, or scrolling, or channel surfing, or performing any task which causes further harm to your tendons.
Do we have a deal?


One thought on “To a diligent digit.

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