Papa J obliged me by poking at it with a stick.
After removing the layer of autumn leaves scattered in the pot, he checked over the surface of the soil. There were no small, scheming holes wherein a snake could be coiled. Papa J told me that it was probably just the leaves settling after the plant had been watered a few hours earlier.
Today, sans water, there was more rustling. I watched a section of the leaves lift, something turned around, and burrowed back into the warm, moist soil housing the roots of my citronella plant.
|Of course, this isn't my actual toad. I am respecting his burrow.|
Seasonal depression is kicking my tush this year. Someone had to remind me to get a shower yesterday. I have put off taking the garbage out all day, hoping some magical refuse pixie will do it for me.
In the midst of my depression, I have started a diet, gotten frustrated with that diet, and read articles to satisfactorily debunk said diet so that I don't have to feel guilty about cheating on my diet. I have bought an aerobics DVD, killed my knee, and thrown away an aerobics DVD. I have over-analyzed my vitamins and my caffeine intake. I have also researched a hundred ways to make money from home. Depression makes me think that I am safe and self-sufficient in the cocoon of my apartment. I am convinced that I can fix all of my problems without leaving my couch.
It's not true. Sometime in February I will understand that, but for now I am certain I'm on to something.
Pacing the same 800 square feet of apartment everyday makes you a little quirkier, a tad looney-er, than usual. Probably lazier, too. I have started and deleted a dozen blog posts, convinced that they don't fit the grand re-launch I have in mind (or a nap comes over me and I lose interest). I have dried the same load of laundry four times in two days, because I truly think I will fold it after the buzzer goes off THIS time. I have scraped together meals from food at the very back of the cupboard, because I'll be damned if lunch is going to make me leave my apartment. I have yelled at my children for perfectly normal kid-stuff during the day, and then handed over control of the remote for the night to make amends.
I don't sleep until about 2am, but dutifully rise at 6am to get Doodle Bug ready for school. I hope I can keep that going until the sunshine brings my soul back to my body.
How I envy the toad in my living room. He can exist happily in his toadiness. I, a biped, must struggle against my inner toad. I must deny him when he gains too much ground. I must crawl out of my warm burrow and pretend that I am functional.
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