(no subject)
Feb. 16th, 2007 07:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
It concerns me that, at twenty-four, my fingers, like my father's and grandfather's before me, are beginning to go numb. We are a people of hands, my family, especially my father's side. My father is a auto mechanic and, while he has held other jobs, it is the cars that he loves, always has been and always will be. Yet I have watched his hands fail him, his fingers fail him, for years now. The sense dulled, the mobility limited. I remember that my grandfather cut through part of his hand with his table saw because he could not feel it. So the deadening, the loss of sensation in the ring finger of my right hand strikes me with a kind of dread that hits hard and hits home because I have seen this. I have seen what this genetic fluke does and what it takes away.
I love my hands. I love my fingers even when I cut the nails off and they seem stumpy to me, though compared to so many other people's hands, they are large and long and flexible. Had I the aptitude and the ambition, I would be an excellent musician.
I do not want to lose my hands. I do not want this numbness in my fingers, the dead feeling of it. I don't like the implications for the future. I am my hands. I am my spirit feeding my brain words feeding my hands impulses feeding my fingers typing the words. I need these hands. I want these hands. They are my mother's hands, which were my grandmother's hands, and yet they are my father's hands as well, deadening on me, frightening me with the lack of sensation that is, oddly enough, uncomfortable. Anyone whose hands have gone numb from cold know this feeling. Only there is no painful waking. There is no waking. It simply sleeps.
I wait and massage it. Prince Charming smothering Sleeping Beauty with kisses to no avail.
I love my hands. I love my fingers even when I cut the nails off and they seem stumpy to me, though compared to so many other people's hands, they are large and long and flexible. Had I the aptitude and the ambition, I would be an excellent musician.
I do not want to lose my hands. I do not want this numbness in my fingers, the dead feeling of it. I don't like the implications for the future. I am my hands. I am my spirit feeding my brain words feeding my hands impulses feeding my fingers typing the words. I need these hands. I want these hands. They are my mother's hands, which were my grandmother's hands, and yet they are my father's hands as well, deadening on me, frightening me with the lack of sensation that is, oddly enough, uncomfortable. Anyone whose hands have gone numb from cold know this feeling. Only there is no painful waking. There is no waking. It simply sleeps.
I wait and massage it. Prince Charming smothering Sleeping Beauty with kisses to no avail.
no subject
Date: 2007-02-17 03:29 am (UTC)*hugs*
Date: 2007-02-19 01:37 am (UTC)Re: *hugs*
Date: 2007-02-19 01:38 am (UTC)*hugs* I miss you.