Hibernating animals always fill me with envy.
I have felt tired and overwhelmed for my whole adult life. And I fantasize about escape.
A clear college memory is epistemology class my freshman year. The professor explains that there is no way we can be sure whether a table is real or a creation of our minds. I'm quite certain that either this class is stupid or I am. The classroom is recently remodeled with soft new blue-grey carpet. I long to curl into fetal position in an empty corner.
People think school teachers have all summer for that, but cleaning up and setting up classrooms plus required training subtracts about a month from that and most of us have second jobs as well. By the time summer starts, it ends.
In the middle of teaching and parenting and coping with the early years of RA, I created a poem about tiredness and longing.
last year's harvest wasn't worth the planting
blighted fruit on spindly vines
stunted by spent soil
so this year
I lie fallow
let raindrops puddle in tired eyes
soften trampled soul
bindweed halo hair
rub aching toes
roots pry open cracks
worms wriggle in
consume the wastes of overwork
leave nutrients behind
let skin bask in dandelion sun
bees bring pollen
dance with drifting seeds
heart catch fire with trees
till leaf-fall knits soft afghan
against frost burn
sap slow cloud-chilled
dreams breathe beneath snow
dormant till spring