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Ever have one of those days where you feel like a sheared alpaca?
Granted, I have no idea what goes on inside the head of any alpaca, sheared or otherwise. This majestic beast, however, was giving off all sorts of possible emotions.
At times, it was self-assured—possibly saucy! Then a wily goat would banter out a phrase and my fluffy-headed friend would move as if self-conscious. I don't know what the goats were saying as I speak neither Goat nor Alpaca. It must have been quite cutting to shake such a normally aloof ball of floof.
Of course, the fresh shear may have put the alpaca off it's game. It would definitely affect me. If you've been reading my blog, you know how I use my clothing as armor and self-care. Usually, it works like a memory-laden charm. Not so today.
I'm feeling raw and exposed, even though I'm doing okay. Nothing substantial changed. I'm wearing painting clothes but not painting. I don't feel cute. A nap would be great, but there are all these metaphorical goats around bleating at me. They want me to stand up straighter, work on the book, spend time on the game I haven't told anyone about yet, plan more paintings, apply for a grant, make a blog post, finish reading that book by Ibram X. Kendi, and all of it needs to happen today. Goats, man. Super cute but so demanding—metaphorically, of course.
I am in charge of the metaphorical alpaca that is me. I make the decisions about what does and doesn't happen. I cut my hair. It needed tidying up. I cleaned and cooked and exercised. I did work things, like email and communicating with my amaze-balls book editor. I still feel overly exposed somehow, but that's fine: It'll be dark soon, the goats will go to bed, and my alpaca will roar like the lion it knows itself to be.