Socks on My Hands

Socks on My Hands

I wore my socks on my hands today.

The cat stared. Did I scare it?

Or did it just judge me silently.

I spilled my tea. Of course.

The dog laughed. I think.

Why am I like this.

The toast jumped out of the toaster.

It landed butter-side down, naturally.

I tripped over my own shadow.

Even my reflection looked concerned.

I tried to call a friend, forgot the number.

The fridge hummed like it was mocking me.

I sneezed and the spoon on the counter fell.

Is this what adulthood feels like.

Or am I just cursed with small, ridiculous chaos.

I laughed at myself until I cried.

The cat blinked once, judging still.

The dog wagged like I was a genius.

Maybe chaos is just my super power.