Spinning dinner plates, balanced precariously on spindly broomsticks, wobble out of control. Multi-colored balls, handcrafted out of orphan socks, circle my head in erratic, elliptic orbits while I attempt to keep a hacky sack, stuffed with worries, suspended in the air, frantically hopping from foot to foot.
My life is a circus, and I am a Bag Lady Clown. Rheumy eyes milky from sleepless nights, dishpan hands shaky with stress, I juggle my wifely and motherly duties. Never letting any fall, always keeping them moving, so I don’t have to think about all of them at the same time.