#3 / I’m feeling funny about this, three
How does one “lump it” anyway, because I don’t like this spring thing very much and lumping it might be exactly what I need, if lumping it means staying on the couch for prolonged periods of time, and I think it does.
I like to think of myself (full stop would not be unusual here, but here we go!) as a flexible person, you know, one who is open to new things – shopping experiences, salted chocolate, courageous beverages and the like – but when it comes to the transition from winter to spring, you can count me out.
I’m still hibernating, thank you, and no I don’t want to go for a hike.
I used to drink beer from time to time (stop laughing) and was just getting good at transitioning from bottles to cans every spring without knocking my teeth out, when I gave it up. But inertia is a harder thing to kick, possibly because I don’t see the point just now.
I know it’s difficult to read this blog in order, and the more things I pile into it the worse it gets – just like my closet – but if you have, you know that I did some Spring Gardening recently, and you should have seen the way my neighbours reacted.
Far from applauding and saying finally, they ran over to me and said what about the bees?
I thought for a moment this word was just a letter and was code for a congratulatory beer or something. As this was quite a shock – albeit pleasant – it took me a while to smile, but then they went on about the butterflies, which I was also able to misinterpret. Finally, I understood. I had thoroughly disrupted the little ecosystems between my grass and the dense layer of leaves covering it.
Apparently, there’s a whole honey I shrunk the kids kind of world under there that we are not to disrupt until the weather is consistently consistent (August?) or until further notice from the neighbours, I guess. So I felt pretty rotten about my behaviour.
And I’ve been lumping it on the couch ever since.
Daisy tried to console me, assuring me that she had pooped pretty-much right in the important zone all winter long. After I explained to her that it was likely the nutrients in her very poop that gave the little ecosystem its life force, her attitude changed, and swiftly. Now she’s turned on me, too. Clearly she has informed my stoned cat, Lily, who hasn’t looked me in the eye for days.
I am writing this in the early morning, and there are some wonderful things going on in the sky that you sleepy-heads know nothing about. My cat Lily, who is currently a post-surgery, spaced-out, cone-headed, high-all-the-time little mess – is staring wistfully into the backyard. She appears to be tripping-out over the no-hallucinations-necessary sunrise that is coming through the dark branches like stained glass.
Here is a picture I took with my iphone:
Also, an update:
As I’ve mentioned or you might have guessed, I am sometimes disorganized, and it’s not all that uncommon for a sock or two to be on my bedroom floor for a while or two, which comes in handy on one-socked mornings such as today. That’s right. I picked a floor-sock up and put it on, but it just kept going. Straight up to my knee, which was bent, thankfully, because you never know what could have happened if it wasn’t.
Daisy ate the toes out, a pretty clear indication that she’s still mad at me about the bees.
