MSH has this dream of buying a motor home and living in it, as in a permanent residence. Me, not so much. A very small point of contention, really, in the grand scheme of things.
Anyway, I suppose that’s the ultimate way for a human to emulate turtle behavior. One could also argue that living out of a backpack would qualify more as turtle-like living. But that’s a whole different idea completely, if you ask me. Although there was a time, thirty odd years ago when that sounded completely rad and doable. (rad= seventies speak for radical, cool, awesome, epic, sick)
Me, I’m more like a turtle without a shell, so my unmovable house has to serve as my protective casing. That poses a problem for someone who needs outdoor time every single day.
Family, I’m okay with. We can hang out and I don’t feel like I have to be “up” or pretend cheerfulness or some other mood when I’m just feeling “meh.” Even better when we’re all feeling the same kind of summer-heat-has-sucked-the-life-out-of-our-energy-reserves blahness.
Mostly, I just want to be left alone to do my thing.
When I go walking in the wee hours of the a.m., if I pass by and say “morning” to five people, that’s about, oh, five people too many. Ten people and I consider the place overrun by a crowd. Sheesh, you’d think they’d all stay in bed that early in the morning, but no, they all have to converge on MY walking place at MY private walking meditation hour.
I’m not always so acerbic and bitter sounding. Just lately I’ve felt that way. I blame it on the summer heat and probably something else that I haven’t figured out yet. Not feeling particularly motivated to analyze myself either.
I ran across this turtle a couple of mornings ago while on my walk. He’s a pretty substantial size for around here. Of course, when it heard my steps on the gravel it pulled its head and legs in and hunkered down waiting for me to go away. I didn’t. Nope. I sat down on a nearby bench and pretended to not be interested in him. A bad plan, I have to admit. The turtle wasn’t fooled by my ploy.
I imagined, after a while, bad words in some turtle tongue racing about inside its little green head. “Stupid human, why won’t she just go away and leave me alone. Can’t she see I just want to be left in peace to enjoy the scenery by myself?”
I felt connected to this semi-animate-pretend-rock. I understood its need for solitude, simply wanting freedom to wander alone and ponder, unhindered by morning niceties and unspoken rules of trail etiquette. So I apologized and left.
Shuffling off down the trail I looked back hopefully, only once. The turtle felt not the least bit accommodating in showing its tail, feet or head even from a distance.
I’m afraid I do that myself lately. If my garage had any spare space I’d seldom show my face outside my house, except at ultra early, ultra late hours when interaction with other humans remains least likely.
What’s up with that?
Maybe I’m trying to keep reality at bay after my two weeks off from life. Maybe my brain feels too cluttered to allow in any outsider input from conversation.
Can you say vacation to recover from a vacation?
Maybe Arizona summer psychologically demands something akin to bears hibernating and I’m secretly part bear.
Let’s just say I’m slightly anti-social lately. I think I’ll just roll with it.
It’ll pass in a day or so.
Or when the mercury dips back down into the nineties again.
Then I’ll be like:
or something along those lines.