I'm acting like some undignified root vegetable, feet digging deep into my laundry pile, and back curved forward like I am a sleeping Sisiphus. Unintelligible thoughts in my head rot and fester. It's not that I won't uproot myself, or that I can't. It's the microbial distractions racing in my brain. Back aching, creaking like an old oak. It reminds me of doors swinging back and forth but not quite shutting. A boat wobbling in a storm surge but not overturning. Yet, if I was to rest lying down, I...