The title of the post is from The Rime of the Ancient Mariner. It resonates with me these days, mostly because of the COVID pandemic and my choice to limit my contact with the outside world.
Combine that with the dark early morning hours when I am alone because of my DSPD, along with the upheaval in this house as my daughter and grandson focus on training their new dog while trying to accommodate the existing prissy cat, who wants none of it. She doesn’t like me, this cat. Never has, and nothing I try to do changes her mind.
I miss the touch of a living creature. My own old cat died about 8 years ago. It wasn’t a great life for her here; she was confined to my two rooms because she attacked the two other cats that lived in this house at the time, and she refused to develop even a tolerance of them. And they were here first.
I live in a house, but it’s not my house. There is a cat who lives in this house, but she is not my cat. There is a new dog who lives in this house, but he’s not my dog.
I am grateful that my daughter and family welcomed me to live with them as I advance in age. It was my best alternative.
But I miss the soft purring on my shoulder, the silky fur brushing my forehead, the rough tongue licking my cheek.
I miss not being alone.
While I’m waiting for that “sleep switch” to kick in, I’ve been trying to track down other bloggers around my age to see if we can develop into a virtual community of kindred spirits. That’s what I had back in the 2000s, and I miss the virtual camaraderie.
As part of my efforts to lesson my feelings of isolation, I am working with my local senior center to try to put together a weekly Zoom group of older folks who are disabled or are self quarantined. I only go out when I have to — medical appointments or grocery shopping. I would love to make new friends, and these days, Zoom is the way to do it.
I did spend most of my afternoon sending out my poetry in response to several “call for entries.” I have been pretty successful getting my poetry published, but it is three years since I have sent any out. At some point I will add a “Poetry” link to my primary menu.
Beginning next week, I will be part of a Zoom-based poetry group. I just love when synchronicities kick in and I become aware of the ongoing spirals that my life is on. I dreamed of a married couple with whom I was close friends for decades, but then they moved away. I contacted to tell them about the dream, and they put me in touch with the leader of the poetry group. The leader of the poetry group was one of my ex-husband’s college students and my daughter was a flower girl at his wedding. Circles into spirals.
Obviously, I have my depression under control. If only I could do that about my Delayed Sleep Phase Disorder.
Three or four a.m. has become my usual bedtime. Will I ever be awake again during those morning hours when the air smells fresh and the birds are just starting to sing?