Friday, March 10, 2006


My hands are hard. They are cracked and callused, the skin mostly dry, the knuckles scarred from encounters with saw blades, knife blades, rocks, rough wood. I don't mind; my hands aren't for show, not lap dogs to be petted. They are tools, and if they've become hardened it means they don't hurt when I lift weights or move rocks or shovel dirt, if I catch a splinter it doesn't go deep and I can pluck it out without feeling much.

Rough hands are useful. A callused heart? Maybe not so much.

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