Fetal Position

Today (Memorial Day) was... interesting.

I got up, 'blogged, reflected on the sacrifices of our war dead, went into town for breakfast and shopping, came back, got some stuff done, had lunch...spent a couple of hours in the fetal position (I don't know why) and now I'm on my way to being fine again.

I really wish I knew why I spent a couple of hours in fetal position. I wasn't moaning, wasn't crying, wasn't distraught... maybe a little depressed, I don't know why (and it didn't feel like my periodic clinical-type depression, so it must have something to do with my situation), but nothing dramatic. I was...resting?

I don't know. I would worry, but I wasn't worried while it was going on and I think I can trust my instincts on this. It's nothing to worry about.

I just wonder, you know? What was going on that made that the appropriate reaction? What brought it on, and what took it off?

I don't know.

Not knowing should, if past history is any guide, have me absolutely climbing the walls, and I'm not doing that, either. I'm strangely at peace with not knowing. Oh I want to know, but it's not causing me any distress that I don't know and don't know how to find out.

I'm chill.

I spent a couple of hours curled up on the couch in fetal position doing nothing, I can't describe with any confidence what I was feeling or why I was there, and I'm chill.

Maybe this is what it's like for a caterpillar in chrysalis, dreaming himself into a butterfly.