My Right Hand is Wrong

What does one do with an inflated hand? A question I had never asked myself before and to be perfectly honest, a question I had never expected to have to ask myself. This morning though, the landmark moment arrived, I had to take a long, hard look at myself in the mirror, face the truth and ask myself, 'what does one do with an inflated hand?' 

If you imagine a marigold multi-purpose rubber glove, in white man's flesh colour, slightly ruddy; then take the said glove and blow into the open end until it is full of breath, you are getting somewhere close to my reality, my mystery. 

Even now I sit at my computer screen frustrated by my zeppelin, annoyed and frustrated by the sluggish motions it makes. I spit on my right hand, extinguish cigarettes on it's hump to reassure myself that it does belong to me.