Hands

As an artist, I have pretty good hand-eye coordination. I’m kick ass when it comes to catching things. If I’m all, “Hey mom pass me the converter!” and she throws me it, I catch that shit like a cat. Better than my cat actually, because my cat’s a dumbass. But that’s an entirely different story. However, there is one thing I lack at, and I don’t even know how to specify it. I have come to the conclusion that my hands have a mind of their own and are in fact not part of my body.

Ever been holding something and you go to move it and it flings out of your hand like a poltergeist has taken hold of it? That’s my hands, but all the time. The simple task of picking something up turns into a warzone, or will result in objects flinging halfway across the room.

For example, the other day I went to pick up my body cream. I looked forward to being moisturized and it didn’t occur to me that anything bad would or even could happen with the simple task of lifting a bottle of body moisturizer. Apparently I was wrong.

Upon lifting the bottle from my desk, my hands decided that no, they didn’t not want to hold the moisturizer and slammed them back on the desk. My hands didn’t just let go of the moisturizer, they forcefully slammed the damned bottle on my desk creating a mess of the other things that were on my desk. I don’t think that these things, whatever they happened to be at the time, were very happy.

This has happened on many occasions. One memorable time in particular, during gym we each had to throw a baseball to our partners. Now I’m sure you’re aware by this point that I lack any type of motivation to be physical, and I’ll also tell you I suck at every sport imaginable. Every single sport.

Anyways, we were instructed to throw the balls to our partner. Okay, cool, what could be so hard in that? The answer should be nothing, apparently for my hands and terrible athletic skills the answer was everything. Our teacher blew the whistle and what did my hands do? Instead of throwing the ball like my mind had planned, my hands said, “Hell no” and slammed the ball right on the ground. There was no majestic toss of the ball. Not even a feeble throw that made it half way. My hands just threw it on the ground. They weren’t having any of this baseball nonsense. Needless to say I never tried out for baseball. 

Also, pencils. My hands hate holding pencils, which is kind of odd considering it’s my main tool when I’m making my beautiful and sometimes breathe taking works of art. But nope, any time the pencil in my hand gets even a bit loose, my hand flings that shit across the room like it’s nobody’s business. I will somehow move my hand in such a way that the pencil flies across like a Canadian goose going south. Except I like my pencil and want it stay. I could give to farts about geese. I have often had to drag my large self across the room because of it.

Having to explain to your teacher that you have somehow thrown your pencil across a class room is a bit difficult when you are unsure as to why it happened yourself.