I know this blog is supposed to be about writing, but the pinkie thing is slowing me down (though I did give a try at a new beginning to the novel rewrite today, moving something from close to the end right up to the front). Turns out that I need surgery after all and it's happening tomorrow morning--they're going to insert a metal pin through the tip of my pinkie, linking together the two end bones for four weeks, so the tendon can heal itself (and then take the pin back out when it's done). Sounds unpleasant.
The worst part is that there isn't a really cool story to go with it. When I require some sort of surgical repair, it seems only fair that it should come with a good yarn--"I was diving across the goal, collided with the post, and still managed to block the shot." or "I was buried under a pile of players, watching helplessly as the ball trickled over the line." Something like that. I'm a writer and I understand that often the thing that makes life bearable is being able to weave good stories out of whatever's thrown your way. In this case, I guess I'll just have to make something up.