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i have what my mother generously calls 'piano hands' and i think of as more like 'witch hands' - small palms that split off into thin, long, knuckly fingers. my hands seem comically large when compared to my five-foot frame. when i hold them up against my boyfriends, my fingertips reach over his.

i always have half-moons of dirt under my fingernails.

my hands must be constantly moving; i rub my palms against eachother, lace my fingers together, crack my knuckles. i chew the whirled skin on my knuckles, absently prodding it with my tongue.

you can see the thin blue trails of my veins through the translucent skin on the backs of my hands. they disappear up under the flesh of my arms and the cartilage in my fingers.

i massage my friends back in the morning, pressing with my fingers, feeling muscles give under my thumbs. i squeeze hands and gave high fives. dann always asks me to press them to his neck - they're always cold, soothing.

i had my palm read last summer by a woman eating pasta out of a tupperware bowl. she traced the lines crossing my hand and said that i will have an inordinate amount of happiness in my life. i don't beleive in fatalism, but i hope she's right.