Having a broken arm is like having a giant claw. I'm not exactly loving it.

Although I can't go out to social events without slumping down into the corner after half an hour, I have been slowly reacquainting myself with my friends over cups of tea. My diary for the past week looks something like this:

Tea: earl grey, lady grey, chai, english breakfast, white wine, mangoes.

Friends: an artist, a singer/songwriter, a filmmaker, someone I went to primary school with, someone I went to High School with, and an official Christmas elf.

Random purchases that probably never would have happened if my wrist wasn't broken: car wash ($12), new mobile phone (minimum $30 per month, phone "free"), $20 worth of raffle tickets for diabetes institute (first ever response to telemarketing), visits to hairdressers ($20 for a wash and blow dry), enormous amounts of codeine.

Things I've watched: Fast Food Nation, lots of Aaron Sorkin, Australian Story (and anything else where people come up against greater odds than mine and win), Scrubs, and half of an accidentally hilarious sports movie called Youngblood, the central charracter in which is actually called Dean Youngblood. Somewhere, there are producers still kicking themselves that they got Patrick Swayze, Rob Lowe, and Keanu Reeves into a film, and it is immortalised thus.

Most annoying incidental things about broken wrist: can't tie shoe laces, or use credit card due to inability to sign name.

Biggest incidental joy brought about by broken wrist: actual hands-in-the-air-not-my-fault inability to dress in anything other than trackie dacks or to cook.

Little thing it makes me think: "Plaster and water wrapped around an essential limb? That's the solution here? Come ON."

Big thing it makes me think: be nicer to old people. Being slow and relying on other people makes me want to scratch my skin off.

Amount of time it took me to write this, in comparison to how long it normally takes: 4:1

Weeks left in cast: five.

Degree of sympathy for own self: extreme to overbearing.

This is me celebrating Stewart's award in cinematography last Saturday night at the Epworth Hospital.

Today's "If I Still Worked In Commercial Radio, This Is What I Would Be Talking About" News Item is obviously this story.

In other news, today I went to get a haircut because I was not looking forward to the potential Mr Bean episode that would inevitably result if I tried to wash my hair with a broken arm in a plastic bag, balancing using a chair and trying to avoid getting soap in my eyes. I think maybe I'll get a haircut once a week until this cast comes off.

Any jokes about how funny it is that I have a "cast" on my "write" arm should be kept from me because I am wielding heavy plaster. That also goes for Stewart, who wrote the high-larious cast related pun in the subject heading above, when I clearly trusted him to type what I was writing. He went free form. He's fired.

What does a writer need? According to Virginia Woolf, it's a room of your own. I would add that probably the use of one's writing arm should also be condideration.

On Saturday night, Stewart Thorn, who shot our short film, won a cinematography award from the Australian Cinematographers Society for his work on another short film, Hollow Bones (directed by Nicholas Verso and produced by Rita Walsh). See it all in lights here. To say that I was a little bit pleased and proud of this would be an understatement. But in retrospect I could have expressed my pride a little more eloquently than by falling over and breaking my wrist.

Yes, I fell over on a slippery floor and snapped my wrist. My writing wrist. I am learning to type one-handed, and the frisbee won't be coming out for at least six weeks, but possibly the worst thing is that I have to bathe wearing a plastic bag. Also, it's kind of cruel that the film that I was celebrating was called Hollow Bones. Do you think someone is telling me something?

Congratulations to Stew and Nick and Rits. Very, very proud. Obviously.