Wild Woman Calls 9-1-1

Wild Woman is putting in a 9-1-1 call
to the universe.
It appears her vivacity has been
temporarily misplaced
under the grey-sky-fall/foul-weather-blahs.
She needs an injection of something vital
to re-animate her unwilling appendages.
She needs something to prop up her head,
for her neck is tired of bearing the weight
of All Her Thoughts.
She needs more time in bed.

But, lo! What is this?
There is a raven peering disapprovingly 
in the window, beak pursed thinly.
Wild Women, apparently, 
are expected to get wilder with age,
not increasingly tired.

Wild Women never get to retire,
as it is a self-imposed post.

Okay, wait a minute.
She has a handy cackle on tap,
and a weary but Can-Do heart. 
She can do this.

Her leg explores the floor speculatively;
she slowly rises. So far, so good.
A pratfall in this poem might  be entertaining,
but it would do Wild Woman little good.
Since we are the authors of this tale,
let's send in a darkly handsome man-servant 
with a cup of vanilla latte.
A team of prancing ponies?
A chariot of fire to lift her higher?

Things are definitely looking up!

Here's something even better:
let's send her to Tofino tomorrow 
for a Total Soul Re-Animation.
That'll do the trick!

Sorry, kids. I am in a Brain Warp at the moment, as the grey skies rolled in and all my energy seeped out. But I AM going to Tofino tomorrow, which will restore me to mySelf. The beach is lovely in any weather, as only a beach can be. This bit of silliness is posted, with my apologies,  for Susan's prompt at Midweek Motiff: Animation.