The Wet-Sponge-Headed Marionette Rears Its Ugly Wet Head

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.

Drip. Drip.

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.

* * *

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.

My mom says some days are just like that. Even in Australia.

Drop.