Can YOU type with 7 fingers?

I learned how to type when I was in the second grade. The computer teacher at my school was a nun, and all she taught was computers. If I had a brother in the room I could recall the name, but something that will always burn in the brain was this nuns thumbs...that and her old school Catholic teacher rhetoric (thou who disrespects thine nun computer lab shall be beaten with large wooden object).

So this nun. Back to her thumbs. I was sitting with friends today looking at dogs and their owners. After an owner has been with a dog for a while they start to look alike, and vice versa. I can see the logic in that argument; you spend enough time with anything, you become just like it..right? RIGHT. This nun had two thumbs in the shape of a space bar. I kid you not. The woman looked like a keyboard, and had a soul that mirrored cold plastic.

I mean, look at your thumb. Do you see your joint? Now imagine, rather than it pointing up, rotate that puppy 90 degrees. This was the hand of an evil nun. I digress...

We were told to pretend that we had oranges under our palms while we were typing. We also had typing tests where we had to close our eyes and type the alphabet (cruel and unusual punishment). Ironically my piano teacher, also a nun, told me the same thing. Obsession with citrus in the nunnery? I was thinking about these nuns today because I managed, in a moment of severe frustration, to give myself two papercuts, one on two consecutive fingers, with a postcard(holyshit ouch, that stuff isn't thin).

Papercuts really aren't supposed to make you think this much, honest. But I think we all become more aware of the functions of our body parts when they're injured. Like how you only really notice the top of your foot when you get a blister from new fipflops, and your scalp isn't really on the top of your priority list until you've dyed it an unnatural shade of purple. Again, I digress. I've spent the afternoon trying to type with 7 fingers, thinking about how Sister Mary IWillMAIMYouWithARulerIfYouFuckWithMyKeyboard would react to my poor typing skills.

Sometimes it takes a vice for us to appreciate normal operations, or to lose something, before we become aware of how wonderful it was. As I'm sitting here I'm getting frustrated as Fisher keeps kicking me with his back right foot. Both he and his brother are dreaming at the same time. Many times I've come home just too damn tired to take them out, annoyed that they're so filled with energy and I'm so filled with...not energy, but know that if I came home without their cold noses to greet me I would be beside myself.

Thanksgiving is coming right? Before we know it the leaves will be a huge heap on the ground, the trees will be bare and Philadelphia will be filled with ghosts walking around in black suits and hoodies. I want to get ready for Thanksgiving in a new way. Not by stalking and buying the largest frozen turkey that ACME will sell me, but really appreciating what I'm thankful for- like 10 fingers, and 10 toes, all in working order. I've got time to figure out the rest. In theory...