Naked, Eating Pancakes

Late morning O'clock

Wrapped in flannel sheets 

as soft as my little cat's belly

chilled by the outside Winter

all untucked

and naked

because

by the end of yesterday's night

I was tired of being bound 

all day --

breasts wrapped in by my well worn blue bra,

my middle aged belly surrounded by my cheap leather belt that thread through the loops of my faded jeans,

and tied in by modern social expectations.

Toes sticking out of the sheets, 

cold and achy, arthritic,

eyes puffed, from my sleep mask

squeezing my head all night,

snapped to its hose

pushing air through my fatty throat

to make up for the suffocation

of chit chatting yesterday with folks

'cuz I don't know

how to chime in

or seem interested

about pop culture,

gossip,

and

the newest product that could

reverse

the wrinkles around their eyes.

"I mean, wow, doesn't Cheryl look

so good from that cream?

She really does take care of herself!"

I guess so, but... is that taking

care

of oneself?

Head hurts as I wake,

sinuses

from last eve's

dusting off of some unread books

and rearranging

knick knacks and other things

as I quietly lied to myself,

"A clean house is a 

sign

of a mispent life."

I don't really spend my time

doing the remarkable anyway.

And, I love a clean house.

The Buddhists say

a simple life is

the

life well lived.

Maybe next time

I'll remember to

be mindful while cleaning

-- I'm told peace is found

when we

wash the dishes

to wash the dishes,

mind on nothing other

than the feeling of the soapy plates

and listening to the dripping water...

I'll try that tomorrow

Or, the next day.

There's time.

(Is there?)

Nope.

My head is hurting more

and I'm still cold

from my naked thoughts

already busying around

as my body braces to do 

today's

long 

To Do list.

They say being productive

proves work ethic

so I pull my sheets around me

and refuse the day.

Excessive positivity

can drown

the

human

experience 

anyway.

(Right?)

Footsteps near the bed

and a hand swipes all covers 

off

so I lie there exposed

all cranky

because I don't want

to start this day

cold

and naked

with my hair sticking out wild and wrangly.

As if placing my hand in a socket,

my husband jolts me upward

and tells me

to Wake Up!

Truth.

Necessary.

Uncomfortable.

But there's a surprise.

I'm handed a warm frothy coffee

and sticky pancakes

and a kiss 

so soft

that I forget my last night's dream

that my husband left me

for a woman with bigger

Dreams.

His giggle at my morning pout

and the promise of pancakes

makes the morning

Perfect.

Yes, the way to a woman's heart

is maple syrup

and

the light brown

of a perfectly creamed coffee.

But, earning and sustaining love

takes much more, as

sweetness is superficial

and effort is one ingredient

of a lasting connection

so my thoughtful mind hummed quietly,

"We've got this, My Love.

We've got this!"

There I sat

naked

eating pancakes

all contemplative

and remembered that

yes

the remarkable is found in the simple

that this won't be a mispent day

and I, too,

can look great by

taking care of myself,

maybe not through serums I can't afford,

but with gratitude

for my husband's smile

my dusty home

food and drink

and my very naked

exposure

to the truth...

The truth that

everything is so much better

with pancakes

and

no clothing

and

laughter

and

love

and Waking Up

grateful

for what you are given.