Log in

No account? Create an account

Previous Entry | Next Entry

An object in motion

I fidget.

Sometimes the fidgeting is soothing, like when I feel anxious and twiddling my thumbs or massaging my cuticles gives me the same sense that babies get from rubbing a blanket. It’s a feedback loop with a pleasant sensation at base. My familiar skin touches my familiar skin, over and over, both sides sensing the other. At night when I go to sleep, it is my toes that wiggle against each other or my foot that rubs back and forth on the sheet. When I was younger, I would lie on my stomach, bend my knee, and slam my foot into the bed over and over. When I was younger still, I rocked on my hands and knees or banged my head into the pillow—my mom tells the story of taking the casters off the crib after I rocked it all the way to the bedroom door and shut her out for a long time.

Other times, the fidgeting backfires. I will tap my toe or bounce my leg up and down in nervousness and the motion will beget more nerves. I’ll twist a tendril of my hair until suddenly I have twisted it so tightly it pulls at the roots. Occasionally, I’ve ended up with bald patches in my eyebrows from rubbing and pulling at the hairs when I read.

Whatever the result, I have an underlying sense of the fidgeting as a weakness, as a character flaw. I think about motionless meditators and know they are my superiors. I am no catlike hunter, still in the grass, all my energy potential and none kinetic.

The all-knowing They say that fidgeting can be good for a person. It burns calories. So fidgeting while watching TV is better than not fidgeting and watching TV. Maybe so. But I still find myself wishing for stillness.

On the other hand, typing, knitting, cooking, all good activities for my restless hands.



Latest Month

June 2012
Powered by LiveJournal.com
Designed by Lilia Ahner