Maynard G. Hands

my hands are dry and rough; they spend their working hours in near constant contact with super-hot liquids and abrasive cleaning products. this is fine for work, i have lotion.

my hands move, in ther lotioned state, ably across many surfaces in both my apartment and car. during these movements i have begun to notice that the hands are growing bored with simply holding things. when i am reading, or driving, i occasionally am surprised to notice one hand has let go the book or steering wheel, and taken upon itself to glide over the sofa's upholstry or the vinyl on the car's door. it is, as if, my hands have reverted to an infant like state where they are begining to understand that world around them through texture.

grown ups, like us, have come to a point where being so used to touching things, we have forgotten to take notice of texture. this is why i am surprised, when my hands take it upon themselves to brush up against a brick wall, triffle through the dirt, or mulch, or even linger longer than necessary on an eggshell when i am so clearly focused on something else.

that something else seems to be, typically, "who am i and how do i relate to the world? where do fit in? am i meant to move here? jobs? why isnt it easier for me to create? etc." perhaps my hands are trying to remind me, through there simple textured wonderings where it is that i am and how in fact i do relate to the world.


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