I'M NOT READY!

"I'm NOT Ready" 

 I wrote this little story many moons ago. Today, instead of agonizing about “why I never write anymore” I decided to revisit some of my old poems, essays, and stories. I don’t have any of their original dates due to a catastrophic drive failure and subsequent rescue of my documents and most of my photos. Since the gist of this story remains an ongoing theme in my life, I simply did a little re-write and decided to post it on this, my endlessly neglected blog.

Most mornings all I want to do is bury myself in my comforter and down pillows and never get up. I always sleep with earplugs and when it is very quiet and I am very still I listen to my heart beat and my blood pulsing in rhythm with my breath.

I remember my mother recounting my birth. How, at the last minute I turned and refused to budge, and how it then took 36 hours of pushing and prodding to get me out. I imagine myself futilely trying to stay in the womb. I still resent having to cope with life. Nowadays, with a cozy bed as surrogate womb, most of the time, I'm still reluctant to budge.   

Other mornings,  I leap up as soon as I awake, energized and ready. It seems unfair that those mornings are so infrequent. They come like big surprises that catapult me joyfully into the world. Mostly, however, I have to push and prod myself to get going. 

        This particular morning I did not want to get up, not yet. I twist and turn then curl up with the sheet pulled over my head to block the morning light. A garbage truck started plaintively whining through my ear plugs. I roll over and turn the digital ocean up loud enough for waves to replace the groans of the truck. I curl back up and sigh….ahhhh… Now I am in a womb by the ocean. 

Naked, I sit on a circular crimson cloth facing the ocean with my legs spread wide open.  Drumming flows faintly over the waves. Astonished, I hold my very pregnant belly … blood is pouring out of me….the drumming gets louder and louder… I am giving birth…. I push and push and my baby's head pops out face up eyes open staring right at me and says "I'm not ready!" and slips back inside.

I wake up startled…there is insistent knocking at my door. Groggy I sit up on a wet crimson circle on my sheets. I'm bleeding. I stagger up and stuff a wad of paper between my legs. 

"Who is it?" I shout at the closed door. 

“Mailman...you got a package!" a voice shouts back. "You gotta sign for it!" 

“Okay... gimme a minute!” I scramble to pull on my robe and open the door. 

"Sorry I woke you..." he said noticing at how disheveled and disoriented I was. He handed me a pen and a clip board. "It's a good thing you're home, or you'd have to go to the post office and pick it up yourself." 

"Yeah, that really IS a good thing...thanks.” I said scribbling my signature and returning the clipboard. He was right, I REALLY didn’t wanna hafta deal with hauling my ass to the post office and waiting on one of their wretched lines. 

I knew exactly what was in the box. I had ordered yet another "self help" book from Barnes and Noble. I have an impressive selection of such books: discovering one’s true life path; finding work you love; creating abundance; attracting your soul mate; overcoming writer's block; stopping compulsive eating; cultivating mindfulness; releasing negativity; paths to enlightenment; healing your life, and so on and so forth ad infinitum. I start all of them and invariably finish only a handful. Laughingly, they line my bookshelves, some sarcastically strewn on my coffee table, and a few furtively hidden in the bathroom.

There's no use going back to bed. I’m already up and it’s getting late. I have money, men and mindfulness to manifest. I better get going. I tear open the box and toss the newest addition onto my coffee table. I’ll read it later. Or tomorrow. Whenever.