Count the fingers on each new hand as this time there may be more of them, or too few.
This is the way the world ends. Not with a bang, but a finger.
Amongst several of my strange cognitive habits, lies my finger-counting woe. I can't look at a photograph with hands present without counting the fingers. It's as if I'm guessing something is immediately off, or that I'll be caught off-guard, so it's an internalised safety mechanism. I don't know where it came from, or where it ends.
Do we all have the same amount of fingers? Why do we trust that we do?
I'm somewhat relieved when I count to five. But I'm not always sure I will again.