Helping Hands

Instead of lying in bed listening to my heartbeat and not sleeping, I think I'll write a post about hands.

I, like most people, take my hands for granted. I expect them to function properly and become very upset and anxious when they don't. There are many hands in my life, both real and metaphorical, but they all have something in common: I need them.

I need the hands that are my family and friends as much as I need the apprendages on the ends of my arms. Friends and family are things I take for granted; failsafes I depend on without really stopping to consider how often, or even why.

While I was lying here not sleeping, I was imagining moving into my apartment. Independence is something that comes to everyone at some point in life; some of us grab it, others of us have it foisted upon us. I am slowly and carefully grasping the reins of my individual life, and finding that (no surprises here) I like having the power to direct my little bit of the world. But back to apartments. As I imagined where I would put my table and chairs, if I would get a cat or a dog, where guests would sleep and what kind of food I'd keep in the pantry, it occurred to me that all of those things involved someone else. A helping hand. A friend or family member.

My hands are necessary for daily life. I am a writer; I need my hands, and I protect them the same way a surgeon or a musician does. I draw. I drive. I cook and hold things and lift children. I had to have someone point out to me how much I use my hands when I talk to help mimic the flow of my thoughts. Without my hands, I would be crippled. Without my friends and family, I would be crippled.

Helping hands are a part of life. In my post An Angel on My Shoulder I talked about how I believe in angels because I feel protected. Some of my angels are very, very close to me: they may not always know who they are, but I do. I love them and need them, as I need my hands.

This post is slightly incoherent; apologies, it's been a busy day. But these are some of my thoughts, incoherent though they might be, and what else is a blog for but to receive (and maybe organize?) the thoughts of its author.

Et maintenant, Bonne Nuit
WolfGrrl