Cocoons

I woke up with that stagnant, ‘dead in the water’ sensation again...

When I talked to my Hippie Dippy Mother last, she said that August was a month for everyone to retreat to their cocoons. She then went on to tell me that when the caterpillar goes into the cocoon, they melt away into a kind of gelatinous goo that is little more than DNA. From there, they fully re-build and are transformed into a butterfly. There is nothing resembling their former caterpillar self by the time they emerge. That’s a very hopeful way of approaching this sensation… But it’s not helping much in moments like this.

I know that so many other, less-aware people live every day in this fashion… it’s a near Zombiefied manner of existence where life starts to blend together, punctuated only by meals and bedtimes and the occasional night at the bar watching the same annoying people you don’t want to know, singing the same tone deaf karaoke as you search for the bottom of a bucket of rum. Baaahhh.

The September calendar would be blank but for my follow up with rheumatology and the acupuncture session My Mr. got me with a LivingSocial deal. Correction- we are hosting discussion group at the end of the month as well. So far the only RSVP is the much older New Yorker that dominated the conversation last time and ate celery off the arm of My Mr.’s favorite recliner without a plate or napkin.

Even before my coffee, I found words falling out onto paper. Poetry is almost always better hand-written so it can find its true form before the battle of spell-check comes in and tries to make it conform. My hand writing has become less and less legible. This is what I put down:

I move too little
   I sleep too much
     dreaming dreams that have become
       as rote as the day to day
dreams of work
**
I have no roots
   and no foundation
Maybe that is why I stand so still?
  hoping if I stop dancing
        stop twirling about
  that somehow I will connect
      with the world beneath me
  and somehow feel secure
**
Seems I am only serving
      to lose my rhythm
           lose my voice
     and lose sight of any semblance
           of that power house
              I think I once was
Once upon a time
         in my wildest dreams