Goose the Blog 2.0

I remember, as a boy, lying in bed at night with a fever, carefully holding my hands on my chest so that my boulder-sized finger tips didn't touch the surrounding world. It was necessary. Every external surface felt enormous and rough - I could differentiate microscopic features in the bedsheets around me. At the same time, paradoxically, I was worried about crushing myself with the unbelievably huge hands attached to the end of my arms. It was terrifying. Only by pressing my fingers to my own body could I stop the shifting perspective - now, I imagine that act provided a kind of feedback that forced my senses to align in some reasonable fashion.

Other fever-induced sensations were dizzyingly rotating end-over-end or sinking endlessly into a huge pillow, but wielding giant hands was far and away the most disturbing.

What brought back that disturbing memory? This and this. Cool.