Confined to bed can make for lots of words

So it’s a “bed day”.

Without boring you with details, I have these periodically. My body won’t take “no” for an answer. And so, after years of fighting it, feeling guilty about it, and worrying that everyone who knows about it will think me lazy and weak, I’ve finally decided to roll with it and stop wondering “why.” I’ve decided that it’s a blessing (“a beneficial thing for which one is grateful; something that brings well-being”): how else, save incapacitation, would I ever be okay with sitting in my lovely bed, surrounded by pens and journals and books – oh my! – and coffee and my favorite wool/fleece blanket and coffee? Oh, the possibilities! Oh, the beautiful miles of ideas one may traverse in such a place! Thank you, body pains, for affording the opportunity!

So after reading my 13 year old’s recent book suggestion (The Year Money Grew on Trees by Aaron Hawkins), trying for the 4th time this morning to get up already and do something productive (besides piling the kiddos on the bed for our lessons. I did do that, thank you very much. I say with a little *sniff* in case one’s tempted to lump me in with terrible home schooling mothers. You’ll have ample opportunity as we go for that. Besides, math is much more pleasant ‘neath a blanket with your legs stretched out.), looking over some of your posts (thanks ever so much for visiting here and reading. I’m hoping that those of you who “liked” posts and/or pressed “follow” actually read stuff? Forgive my cynicism; I really am new to this whole thing and don’t know quite how it works. Not to mention that I’m pretty isolated sandwiched out here ‘tween the soybean fields and home everyday with the brood I’m [supposedly] in charge of. What I’m trying to say in this too-long-parentheses is that it’s quite possible I’m a little outta touch…), I was forced back to bed. (Wow. The parentheses was so long I forgot the rest of the sentence it went to.) Fortunately for me, the discomfort doesn’t require all out fetal position so I can still read and write.

Anyway, (man. What does “anyway” actually mean? I use it a lot. I should probably know more about it other than that it’s a tentative, self-conscious but vague segue way into new information) I worried that the poems I posted consecutively were a little too heavy to be, well, consecutive. So I offer this next little one with a certain degree of tongue-in-cheekedness (I’m not sure where that phrase originated. But I am so going to look it up.) fraught with a little disgust and self-loathing. (I know there’s a balance to loving oneself and drowning in the awareness of the self’s wretchedness, and I remain faithful in trying to find it, God willing!) May we all strike a healthy balance between reality and ideal… while, of course, moving towards “ideal.”

Anyway (oops. There it is again.), allow me to offer “Excuses”

At the risk of being judged:

I (must) like excuses.

It’s too cold.     It’s too hot.

The road’s are bad.      I’ve got green snot.

My kid’s sick.       I didn’t sleep.

It’s harvest time.   The snow’s too deep.

It’s too early.       It’s so late!

I don’t feel good.     The weather’s great.

I drank too much.       I need a drink.

I’ve turned a corner.     I’m on the brink.

We haven’t eaten.       We’re eating still.

Back from the doc’s.       I’m outta pills.

I need ta this…     But then there’s too…

I’ve got this thing.          I burned the roux.

It’s really raining.   It’s just too sunny.

I’m feelin’ … I don’t know… I’m feelin’ funny.

The roads are bad.    The lights went out.

If I leave my kids’ll pout.

The clock was wrong.         The time was right…

I woke up late.       Got in a fight.

I’m feelin’ down.        I’m just so up!

I’d love to come… but I’m a grump.