My hands:

The left one is the frustrated one, the one that cannot put pen to paper, can only tap out on a keyboard. Even on that keyboard I’m not sure which of them is most dominant. I watch them now. Typing style like spiders tap-dancing and jumping ludicrously over keys, with little to know order. My left hand barely ever uses the index finger – ah wait, actually, it does. But odd how it takes the middle finger to carry out the big, daring leaps into the top-middle of the keyboard (y-t).

My left hand doesn’t do much, outside of typing (I can feel his-her frustration at me now, as she tries to prove him-herself and taps with indignation. She’s the anchor hand when windsurfing, the one that holds the top of the zip when I use a zipper on my clothes. The anchor one, the strong one, while the right flutters around. Maybe that’s why she felt the need to punish the right – “stay still” she said, digging into right-hand’s back.

I tried to draw a hand in my notebook, how long ago was that? months or years? The hand, drawn in pencil, has a gaping pencil wound on the back, dripping with pencil lines. You can never know, right, I thought: you can never know if, maybe this time it’s not blood that will come out but maybe stars or the galaxy or thick yellow pus or sap or … I don’t know, you can never know.

My body is often envious of my hands. Immobile, it must watch the hands dance, and feel the exhuberant energy flowing off of them. It, itself, is never in a situation to move. The movement of the hands is far more acceptable, or easy to hide, than that of the body; so while the hands gladly release energy, the body shudders with desire to do the same.

It is even worse, perhaps, because the body must often sacrifice its own freedom of movement in favour of the tap tap tapping or scribbling of the hands. It hates that. But it also becomes more and more apathetic day by day, as it grows used to its immobility. Caged bird, it has even begun to refuse many of the small opportunities of movement it is given; “No, I can stay at home today instead of snowboarding,” or; “I would much rather read and write than have sex with xxx or xxx.” It has gotten used, then, to lending any energy it may have had into the wrists and fingers.


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