when I was a teenager, full of angst, I would hide from the world under my cover. I realize that most people stop this practice somewhere in elementary school, but I didn’t start until high school.

in the early evening, after supper, I would take my blanket into the front living room, while the rest of the fam would hang out in the family room.  I would put a couple of albums on the record player – usually elton john and rod stewart; sometimes ozzy or kiss – wrap up in my blanket, and rock myself to sleep.  I would cover every inch of myself, making sure that I had space to breathe.  I would rock in that chair until the early hours of the morning, when I would drag myself off to bed.

my parents never understood this behavior, my need to withdraw into myself, my blanket, my music.  I could never explain it to them, since I never really understood it myself.  it was just this primal urge that I had to obey.

and yes, this need got in the way of sleepovers frequently.  I was very blessed with a best friend who would rather sleep at my house than hers, and she didn’t mind at all that I had this need.  in fact, she would sit in the other rocking chair, listening with me, sharing my aloneness, until she got tired, then she would go on up to bed.

I would stay at her house some, but not as much.

over the years, I the urge to hibernate became more of a desire, then a luxury.  as my independence grew, then my family, I didn’t often have the opportunity, in fact, sometimes I didn’t have a rocking chair.

lately, I’ve been getting that old urge.  I’m not sure what has brought it about now, maybe depression, maybe something else.  late at night, when everyone else is asleep, I come out to the living room with my mp3 player, and curl up in the rocking chair.  I’m not as flexible as I used to be, so I can’t stay in the chair near as long, but it still feels good.

there are some days when I wish I could take comfort in my chair, alone.  many days lately.  I need to figure out what is triggering these feelings of isolation.

I haven’t written anything for several days, not for any reason other than I just feel dried up.  I can’t find words.  I wish I could once again let elton and rod speak for me.  they seem to be able to reach that part of me that feels the most.  my little music pal is full of persephone’s bees, michael buble, the dresden dolls, chieftains, imogen heap and others; but when that need calls, I fall back on my 2 oldest friends.  they’re always there, even when words fail.

Advertisements