Perhaps it is some sort of post-dissertation, pre-defense malaise. Perhaps it is much-needed recovery time. Or willful recovery time. Or willful laziness. Who really knows? Fortunately, this state seems to be precisely what my Free Will Astrology horoscope this week is encouraging:
TAURUS (April 20-May 20): For a limited time only, you have cosmic permission to suck your thumb and drool freely and murmur “gaga” over and over again. More than that: You have a poetic license to spend expansive periods rocking back and forth while curled into the fetal position, either under the covers or on the beach, while singing little made-up songs about everything you love. The moment has arrived, in other words, to give yourself permission to melt into a pool of primal goo as you commune with the music of the spheres and tune in to the hymn of your deepest longings.
Dude...license to melt into primal goo...how cool is that? I see that as kind of an existential mudbath/spa treatment, which, let's face it, is probably the only kind of mudbath/spa treatment I will ever be able to afford, and is probably way better than the average mudbath/spa treatment if properly executed and experienced.
My cats, however, seem to achieve existential, and perhaps near-actual goo on a daily basis, though I'm sure the heat helps them along in this respect. To illustrate this point, I give you photos of Lyric and Maya in existentia:
Yup, there really is nothing like a cat to show you what existential goo might look like. Lyric really does look like she's melting into the chair she is lying on. Of course, Lyric is probably thinking something more like, "Dude, its freakin' hot. I, like, can't move. I'm really glad I stretched out my front legs though, because the more space I take up, the less likely it is that Maya will come over here and co-opt my chair, or smother me, or bat me on the head. She just thinks she's so great. Look at her hogging Mommy's couch; she's so selfish. No wonder Mommy likes me better. Also, I bet I look really good on purple; no wonder Mommy keeps looking over at me. I am not only hot; I am like, HOT."
Maya, by contrast, is obviously saying, "I am the queen. I am the queen. The couch is mine. Mommy is mine. Lyric thinks that chair she's using is hers, but really it's mine. I rule, because I'm the best and because I'm fabulous and everyone adores me. I'm starving, though. Mommy fed me 20 whole minutes ago, and I don't know how she expects me to survive. I'll really have to work on that with her. If she would just accept my total domination of the household, life would be SO much easier." Or so I like to project. Because imaginary cat monologues are fun.
