What is it?
He picked it up, put it back down. Right. Again. He turned it over; it made a sort of hollow trembling rattle as his fingers lost the connection and it landed opposite-side up on the wooden table. Its unwieldiness certainly wasn't due to its weight, but that was the least of his concerns. His mind, which was prone to running away with itself, jabbed at the flabbier and darker corners of his self-esteem: Always had a hard time getting a grip, heh heh.
He frowned a little, purely for the benefit of no one and nothing but his own mind, and then gave up on it.