Whose Boxes Are You Living In? Exhausted from living in my head, I’m lying face down on the bed, my body still, but my mind anything but. That’s my escape route into peace and quiet. No noise. No explanations. No more trying to make sense of every box I’ve stepped into, climbed out of, or carried longer than I should have. My head is resting on my left arm. My eyes are closed. Then they fall open! I see a hand draped across the pillow. It must be mine. I’m lying here alone. A tanned hand speckled with spots, lined with slightly protruding dark blue veins. The forefinger must have…