(no subject)
I have blisters turned callouses, all brown underneath the skin. I wonder what they will do; will they stain my hands until I slip into dust?
They remind me of my grandpa's hands, how they were the last pieces of him to lose strength. We had to pry my grandma's hands from his to keep hers from breaking.
I always imagine that he knew how to use a wrench and a chisel--I know, a little bit, by the rocking giraffe he and my dad made my sister, and from the clock and clock kits I inherited--by the habits & interests I inherited. I tinker. I used to take phones and dead computers apart just to turn a screw driver. I still have little computer chips and screws.
This is the first spell of boredom of the summer. It leaves me dangerously craving creation. Give me a paintbrush, a block of clay, a notebook.
They remind me of my grandpa's hands, how they were the last pieces of him to lose strength. We had to pry my grandma's hands from his to keep hers from breaking.
I always imagine that he knew how to use a wrench and a chisel--I know, a little bit, by the rocking giraffe he and my dad made my sister, and from the clock and clock kits I inherited--by the habits & interests I inherited. I tinker. I used to take phones and dead computers apart just to turn a screw driver. I still have little computer chips and screws.
This is the first spell of boredom of the summer. It leaves me dangerously craving creation. Give me a paintbrush, a block of clay, a notebook.