My Head is a Jar

My head is a jar.

Every time something new slips between into my head, a little plink echos in my ears. You can't always see the thoughts clinking about because there are layers and layers of them. If you could see them all at once, my head would cease being a jar, and would instead be a double-sided picture frame. You know the kind. You buy one, thinking to show off your college football jersey, then go to hang it on the wall and realize it didn't fucking matter any way if you could see both sides or not at the same time. One way or another, something will have it's back to the wall. Two sheets of glass just make it more breakable.

My head does not hold pennies. It is not a penny jar, or even a nickel jar for that matter. It's more like a catch-all. Bits of paper, scraps from my day. Receipts, to-do's, maybe a tube of Burt's Bees. If I hear a song, a few chimes get tossed into the mix. Not enough to remember who sang the song, or even where you heard it, but enough to repeat over and over. Enough to catch yourself humming randomly. Enough to bug the piss out of you.

I think my head as a jar is a good thing. If you drop me on my head I'd break open like a penny jar though. Then I'd lose everything I have spent this long collecting. Gold and brown bits all over the floor. But until some asshole comes along and drops me right on my jar head, you can always add more. If my head gets too full, I can reach in and remove any of the old stupid things that have gathered. Like leaves in a fox hole. Crumbs in a utensil drawer.

I don't know if there is a lid or not for my head. I probably lost it a long time ago. I probably set it down somewhere when I was little and someone finally chose me to play kick-ball. You can't hold onto a lid for your head forever. Little kids are always leaving stuff behind. Stupid.

I like the way everything rustles together when I move. I can dance to an orchestra by just bopping my head. Shifting my weight. Almost-tripping. Every time I blink, or sigh, I get another plink. Nothing to see here folks. Just a girl with a jar for a head. Drop something in or leave it alone. Go shuffle your thoughts somewhere else.

When you crack an ice cube tray to get the ice cubes out, I think that's how my head might sound if you dropped me from a not-so-great distance. Like a spiderweb in safety glass. Gummy bits that don't necessarily fall out of the frame right a way. A shriek and a pop.

My jar-for-a-head does not get cold. Which I guess is good. They don't make hats for jars. Those glass bottles and cans and stuff have coolie-cups and all, but jars just don't seem to have any protection. Are jars easier to break in the winter? If a bug ever got into my head, I don't think it would matter if it were winter or fall. I'd smash my own head against the concrete until I shattered.

It's okay that my head is a jar. It really is. I am my own conversation starter. I am equally, if not more, as unique as you are. I amuse myself with my own hiccups. If you can hear the stuff rolling in my head, I can inspire movement by tilting slightly to the left, then back again.

What can your head do?