For many years I have written exclusively with my right hand, and the results of that experience are not pretty. More of a ransom note assembled by a startled chicken. So, in a fit of midlife optimism, I have decided to recruit my left hand for the job. It has been freeloading for years, maybe opening the occasional door or gesturing vaguely, and frankly it owes me. If my dominant hand has had decades to perfect this disaster, surely the understudy can do no worse.
And so each day, when I pick up my notebook, my left hand produces wobbly little letters that lean against each other, shaking like a professional alcoholic. Let's see if it can improve. The dominant master has grown complacent. Long live the resistance.
