Hands

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I found this today:

Image by The Naughty Corner

Image by The Naughty Corner

It’s a little plastic hand. It’s kind of bluey green, and has weaponry built into it. I guess they shoot lasers or act to disembowel enemies, or maybe open tins or remove corks from bottles or pick two nostrils at once or take down jets – no not jets, PTERODACTYLS – as they swoop through imaginations and attack, attack, ATTACK!

Just the hand. No other part of this toy. Just the hand.

It was in the backyard and I picked it up, the hand not the backyard, and put it in my pocket so I could look at it closer later. I took a photo of it and looked closer and I noticed a few things.

I noticed that the shadow that the hand casts makes my thumb nail look slightly yellow.

I noticed that my skin on my index finger is almost finished healing. I’d accidentally stabbed myself with a knife while cooking dinner a couple of weeks ago, and then last week I thought the result scab was a splinter so I spent a solid ten minutes digging and squeezing until I popped out the splinter. It wasn’t until I saw the resulting hole that I remembered stabbing myself with the knife. It was lasagne that I was cooking, at my sister’s, and it was awesome.

I noticed that my fingers are really quite dirty, and dry. I’d been in the backyard when I found that hand. You see, I decided to test myself today. I was feeling OK. Our backyard is relatively small. I spoke to my beloved about it, and then I got behind the lawn mower and slowly pushed it back and forwards, over the grass and the sneaky dog poo that evaded the scooper, the random leaves and the carcasses of tennis balls long deceased. Back and forwards. Across the yard. Back again. It took me probably three times as long as it used to. But I did it.

It was when I was pulling out the longer weeds that I found the hand.

Which is why my hands were dirty.

And now the backyard is mowed and I’ve had a shower and been on the nebuliser and now I am sitting, completely buggered. The cold of the day is settling in, which draws out the whoop in my cough.

But there is life in my hands. And I am using it to tell you about the hand that I found:

I found a hand!

And I know this is a strange post. That I’ve not really said a lot, or changed the blogging world, or offered insight or used hindsight or longed for foresight. It’s just been about right now. This moment in this time in this world, in this body that I am in. And it’s an unwell body at the moment. And for today, I’ve accepted that.

No wanting to do. No wishing I could.

Just being here. In this skin.

Finding hands.

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