Somebody Take Away My Vicodin

Does it ever strike you that you didn’t know you’d stopped moving/growing/outward-expanding and suddenly you find yourself, your mind, your heart, whatever else there is, stretching like a microscopic creature with shifting arms/legs/appendages that move in gooey ways and seem not to have clear edges, but at the same time they are bounded by a light plant-like cellulose structure that holds them all together, attached to the central animal, a core creature that is now able to reach farther than it had before?

If you pay attention to how those reaching arms and untangling legs feel, I wonder if you'd feel, as I do, a glowy warmth, an ease, a kind of excitement, but not excitement in the electric sense—more in the way a flower might feel as it blooms. Subtle but intense. Soft.