Self-Care Nightmare

The other night, I decided that I was going to be the woman I was destined to be: the kind of gal who had a tasteful glass of wine rather than a flowerpot full, the sort of radiant dame who gets eight hours of sleep and drinks a big glass of water first thing in the morning. The endeavor to be my own embodiment of feminine mystique and glory came to a screeching goddamn halt when my first purpose-planned night of rest was chock-full of nightmares. Enjoy – I know I didn’t.

To Be Well-Rested, I Must Rest Well

It’s a foul dream, 
A trick
My world through a funhouse mirror
Someone, somewhere, is laughing at me
Wake up, wake up
My heaving breast aches for the morning dew

Reaching through horror
I sense some shift of me
Some luckier phantom
Floating under my duvet somewhere
Behind waking’s gauzy curtain
I want to shake her into knowing relief
I don’t want these eight hours

Ten Days

I’m sure all two of you who read this blog have noticed my absence. I have run myself so ragged that even my sister has squawked at me to “slow down!!!” I’ve been doing a poor job, but I did stay in on Friday. I watched Super Troopers with my dog. It was a totally unremarkable evening, and I would like to have more just like it. Anyways, here’s a poem I started about this whole thing.

I'm supposed to be getting better
Resting
Rebuilding my strength
But what is vitality
If not a volatile currency
A fickle, use-it-or-lose-it force?

Hold on
I need to sit down for a moment