I have a fear. I worry that my brain has reached capacity, like a sponge that’s soaked in water . . . poke it, and it will start to leak.
What happens if I just can’t shove another fact into my brain or learn anything new or retain additional information? I want to do more and be more than the woman who sweeps the floors and matches socks. But what if my brain has liquefied like jello left out in the sun?
I worry about my spongy brain.
(And where is my remote control, anyway? I dug into the furniture. I did everything but body cavity checks on the children.)
See? I can’t even think a coherent, straight-line thought without distracting myself.
Sponge-brain. That’s me.