by Andilyn Jenkins
Sometimes my brain feels like a saturated sponge. Tasks, conversations, reminders, text messages, ideas pour over it and then pool around it until they start dripping on the floor.
Sometimes my eyes close when I ask them not to, like the mall.
Sometimes I feel like a string connects my jaw, neck, and shoulders and throughout the day, the rope cinches tighter and tighter until I can’t open my mouth and my shoulders are touching my ears.
Sometimes I feel like my hands can handle any abuse. They endure washing, scraping, pulling, tickling, patting, carrying, typing, texting, stirring, drumming, cracking, scratching, cleaning, clapping . . .
Sometimes my knees drip. feel like drop. achy knees.
. . . rubbing, wiping, sealing, folding, zipping, fixing, pushing, holding . . .
Sometimes my feet feel like cold Slinkys—the further I stretched them, the more knotted the muscles became.
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Sometimes I feel like a wet-sponge-headed marionette with diamonds for hands and a wonky spring in my step trying to go shopping at 9:01 p.m. in slippers.