Friday, February 10, 2012
And once again I remind you to get your gray matter out of the gutter!
Guess what? I pay attention to the hands of strangers. If you and I crossed paths and I could get a good solid peek, I would probably be looking a your hands too.
The barista at the coffee joint (zoom zooming up my icy blended caffeinated stuff) has nice hands. I'm thinking that the black nail polish is some sort of a statement, but it doesn't distract me.
The wonderful check stand gal at my Trader Joe's and I often banter back and forth about the multitude of uses for freeze dried strawberries (AKA red fairy dust for my popcorn). She has no idea that while she swipes my diet Hansens pomegranate soda across the scanner, that I am admiring her efficient and pretty fingers, doing their task at hand (har har).
The ladies up the road who walk our beloved dog Olive both have tanned, tough hands. The type of hands that announce how much they love to be outdoors, and get their fingernails dirty in the garden. Hands with strength and purpose.
At my rheumatologist appointment today, the doctor was taking notes as I basically speed-talked myself to death, rattling off the ever growing checklist of prescriptions, pills, creams, and all non traditional methods I have tried to slow down my condition.
He had smooth, almond colored healthy hands, free of any blisters or wounds.
My hands were cute once. Currently, let's just say that they...aren't.
I was told when I was younger that I had piano hands more than once, and even that I should try out the violin. I guess that means that they we long and lanky? The Gwenneth Paltrow of fingers? These hands I drag around with me currently seem so foreign. I was not born with them, yet in some way, I guess I was?
Perhaps this is me of those instances where I want something that I cannot have (right now).
I know that we're not supposed to strive toward unrealistic goals. Perhaps I should heed the advice of another doctor I saw this week, who told me that it was critical for me to continue to work on altering my daily tasks to fit my worsening health.
Would that be like trashing your car because it was in a fender bender, and opting for the little moped scooter instead?
What if I want to keep the car?!?
I don't think that I deserve a time-out in the corner for wanting back what I DID have once, right? And your struggle to get back those things in your life (whether it be a goal weight, crossing the finish line of a race, even a new career!) are all justified.
I want my functioning (and cute) hands and feet back, thank you very much.
So don't mind me, staring at your hands. I guess I am a bit envious.
But don't worry, I'm not one of those people who think it perfectly acceptable to ask you to peel an orange while I video tape you.