Hands to face.
What is my obsession about putting my hands on my face?
Am I checking to confirm my face hasn’t dropped off, disappearing from what I call the front of my head?
Or reassuring myself my nose is still located where it was just minutes ago?
What’s the deal with my need to cup my chin in my hand? Am I trying to prop my head up so it doesn’t take a dive to the floor?
And the need to rub my eyes? Do I think that will clear my vision and alter reality?
Pray tell what do people do with their hands if they don’t mess with their faces during boring and endless meetings? Nibbling on bothersome hangnails, rubbing their foreheads in consternation, lifting the edge of their lips so it appears they are interested in whatever is being said. These are actions necessary to maintain sanity during insane times.
Whatever happened to those days when I could scratch, rub, caress, pat, stroke, and cradle my face fearlessly?
Oh, to return to those germ-filled blissful times when I lived ignorant of the dangers that lurked on the tips of my fingers.
Safety first everyone, even if sanity escapes you.