Damn hands

Hands are useful. Except when they're not.

I put my hands to work today in hopes of tricking them out of wanting to do what they surely do want to do very much. My hands have a mind of their own. They are wicked hands. Disobedient. Willful. Reckless hands.

So I kept them busy with various mundane tasks. Washing dishes, throwing shit out, turning pages of magazines and books, clicking endlessly through satellite TV, feeding me, etc. Nothing these hands wanted to do, that I can assure you. And now I've run out of things to occupy these bad hands.

Crap.

Segue. My second-biggest fan remarked the other day that I do not leave the door open for comment on this blog. My immediate reaction was shut up but being open-minded, I decided to give a listen. Perhaps second-biggest fan has something there. Whatever it is, it's a very small nugget, hardly worth this paragraph of mention but my damn hands are enjoying this. So fine. You want to comment. Go ahead. I've left this blog sufficiently vague that I invite your clever conversation. If I strike back viciously, blame my hands.