Everybody now!
Have you ever looked at your hands and thought 'How the hell can they be mine?' They seem somewhat... separated from you or your concept of who you are. You see them every day, staring down at them as they type, seeing them reach across for a biscuit o a drink, seen them unlock doors or open your wallet, but still... sometimes you look at them and think 'Wait... These can't be my hands!'

I've often thought my hands looked far too small. I know they're not - I've measured them against other people's hands, and they don't alter their size, so I know them to be a perfectly average sized pair of hands. But seeing them stuck on the end of my arms like they are, drifting slightly at the join where they seemingly attatch to the long, thin part of my arm that extends upwards ffrom my wrist, they look somehow out-of-place. Almost alien. The colour and texture is aged beyond the rest of my body - they do more, are exposed to the sun more, get less care - making them appear diferent in tone and texture to the rest of my body.

Of course, my hands cary all the familiar little markings - a series of small scars around the knuckle of my left index finger, freckles above my right wrist, all the things that indicate that yess indeed, this is your hand you're looking at. That and there is a sense of controll over them and thier actions. It's all so subconcious - barely a thought goes into it as they flicker over the keyboard they've worked at every day, push a needle though cloth as they sew on another button without stabbing yourself with the needle.

But sometimes there's that moment of disassociation, where although they behave and obey your commands, for a moment they don't seem to belong to you. They're external, something you can controll to a degree, but which seems outside of your own sphere of self.

And sometimes, they're just hands.
- posted by Washi @ 1:55 pm