- Main Entry:
- de·Quer·vain’s disease
My own definition:
Current state of my right hand. I wish I could cut off the afflicted appendage, and be rid of the incessant stabbing, biting pain. I can’t sleep, the pain wakes me up. In my dream last night I was hiking in a dark wood and I sat down to rest when my hand became entangled into one of those rusty, jaw hinged old beaver traps. Or muskrat. Hell, I don’t know. Some awful thing that kills small animals.
Oh my God. I wish I could elaborate on the awfulness of this, but I can’t type anymore. It hurts.