Hand Me Over

No tennis. No basketball. No dart-throwing. No writing.
Wrist's fractured, despite the "no-excruiciating-pain-no-fracture" philosophy fed to me by the great doctors in Singapore. All it took was an x-ray. If I had continued to believe that it would have healed on its own, I may have had to live with a busted hand for the rest of my life.
So wrist is in a splint right now.
I'm seeing a specialist this Friday. Maybe we'll work on why my jumpshot isn't finding the bottom of the net as regularly as it ought to be.

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