Typing Injury.

I’d not seen this before.

JWZ’s essay on RSI, or typing injury. “… it terrified me. … my career being over”

I have one of my own written years and years ago. “… a friend who lost the ability to pick up a piece of paper …”

And I see that Bill Clementson recently joined this miserable club.

It’s a puzzle how until it happens one isn’t particularly interested; and even if you were interested getting advise isn’t straight forward. The advice is largely the wisdom of crowds. I.e. it’s hearsay, rumor, and stories like the ones above. The best you can hope for is to pick out the better of the old wive’s tails. It’s not often you get to refer to JWZ as an old wife! There is very little hard science and what exists seems to me to be very lame and often self serving.

It amazes me that an industry that has generated so much wealth hasn’t found a way to fund some substantial research into the affliction that forces the retirement of it’s most productive labor. Of course all minority groups have trouble getting attention for their problems. But in this case the minority group has actually got money. Still, it says something about who captures the wealth.

0 thoughts on “Typing Injury.

  1. mtraven

    ( U. Utah Phillips)

    I spent my whole life making somebody rich
    I busted my ass for that son of a bitch
    He left me to die like a dog in a ditch
    And told me I’m all used up

    He used up my labor, he used up my time
    He plundered my body and squandered my mind
    Then he gave me a pension, some handouts and wine
    And told me I’m all used up

    My kids are in hock to a god you call Work
    Slaving their lives out for some other jerk
    And my youngest in ‘Frisco just made shipping-clerk
    He don’t know I’m all used up

    Some young people reach out for power and gold
    And they don’t have respect for anything old
    For pennies they’re bought, for promises sold
    Someday they’ll be used up

    They use up the oil, they use up the trees
    They use up the air and they use up the seas
    But how about you, friend, and how about me
    What’s left, when we’re all used up

    I’ll finish my life in this crummy hotel
    It’s lousy with bugs and my God, what a smell
    But my plumbing still works and I’m clear as a bell
    Don’t tell me I’m all used up

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