Lately when I’m driving and I nearly get in an accident—someone cuts me off or I slam on my brakes or any of the various near misses that happen with shameful regularity—my hands burn. I mean the thin skin on the backs of my hands grows hot and tingly.
It’s not an unpleasant sensation. It disappears within a couple breaths. What is it, adrenaline? Or some shot of bloodflow in response to danger? Nothing just happened, but my body reacted like something happened. It’s a tiny, physical response to a close call.
I assumed this only happened in the car: a mini panic attack, isolated to the spot where sunlight bastes my hands as I grip the steering wheel.
But last week it happened while I was in the house, fingers curled and hovering over my laptop. My hands lit up when I read this review of my book, Flight Path. So I learned something about myself just then.
I have virtually retired this blog (est. 2004!) in favor of Instagram, Twitter, Facebook, and occasionally, freelance writing jobs. I'll keep paying the annual Typepad fee to keep it online for a while, so that anyone who Googles "Mountain View, Georgia" can find my research and musings from way back. Stumptown has been a wonderful sketchbook for me stash ideas and test theories, feeling published yet somehow still private enough to experiment.
Thanks for reading.