Poach

I never knew that the word ‘poach’ could mean to sink into mud until I looked the word up today.

I’ve always associated the word with eggs. A poached egg is one that has been cooked either above a simmering liquid or cooked within it.

The word can also mean to gain access to something illegally by trespassing on someone else’s property.

Reading the definition gave me a creepy feeling.

My husband’s nickname for himself has always been ‘Mud’. However, I have never called him this.

The madness that I have been pulling myself away from these past several years definitely had given me a feeling of having my mind and soul trespassed upon.

The old French word ‘pochier’ means ‘to enclose in a bag’.

Thoughts of being some kind of bag or egg or egg sac toyed with my mind during my years of paranoia.

Now, it all seems so laughable, and yet, the question of whether I really was a poached egg did cross my mind as I read the definition.

The weirdness and absurdness of it all leaves me no alternative but to shrug it off, and force myself to get busy doing something else. Maybe forgetting it is the best solution.

It does not help matters that the letters of the word ‘poach’ adds up to 43, and the digits of my birthday, that is quickly approaching, adds up to 34.

I was saved when I realized that the word ‘grace’ also adds up to 34. I have decided that I will dwell with the idea of aging with grace, and forget about all the negativity.