Cold Fingers

I sat at my computer for the first time in a long time, wondering when I last had a moment just to myself.

I breathed a sigh of relief, knowing the comfort of rest once more.

In the middle of winter, I foolishly chose a yellow tee over a flannelette and allowed distractions to take over.

And little by little, my nimble hands discovered what it was like to stumble over simple repetitions of the keyboard.

Was this how older people felt trying to do mundane things as they began to lose control?

I stretched out my hand, looking at my hand as I got lost in thought.

But I am reminded by the callused ridges on my palm that I have become stronger.

And my affliction is merely the curse of cold fingers.