I run barefoot onto the back porch, admonishing the dogs to hurry as my bare feet dance on the jute rug, quickly slipping the collar over Marley’s head, and rushing back to the relative warmth of the kilim on the floor by the door.
I feel light today.
Last night I tried to stretch in front of the television, I had to turn it off. The peacefulness of my lazy yoga of cuddling Marley as I did frog pose in front of the fire. My mat is dirty, and the floor is covered with ash and wood dust and bits of dog chewed kindling.
I forwent the muscle relaxer and went instead for the naproxen and A.’s sleep tincture.
My dreams were ethereal.
I was left behind as mystical creatures dove under a barge. I saved a soul lit otter like creature from capture. I was the concubine of an alien, who loved me, and I could see through all his subterfuge.
I woke thirsty, the universe swirling in my mind’s eye. Psychedelic doodles painted before my eyes.
I drove through the salt parched roads, oil and grit blackened snow banks higher than my car.
I am alive today.
Yesterday I felt like a plug of slime.
I think the muscle relaxers are stealing my light.