of the world

My Astrological chart says I have a hard time "in the world", knowing what is real, concrete verses the unconscious, the dreams or fears or visions.
My therapist says she has seen me floating, untouchable.
This summer I felt the strings holding me down, a point of connection and tension to an anchor, suddenly cut.

All my balloons of me gently floated and dispersed into the vastness. I knew it was happening. I have this ability of knowing exactly whats "wrong" with my life, how and why and what should be done, but just the awareness doesn't necessarily mean I have the machinery to turn out the solution.
I had balloons all over, spring, summer, fall. Stuck in telephone wires, blown into space, caught by a kid-who drug the wilted thing around until it shrivelled into a grubby, finger printed liver shape.

A "Foundation" is such a fancy way of living a life. I had never experienced it before then, and then, I lost it.
I mean, I guess I don't need it, I'd survived this long without the deep trench that's needed for all the important stuff, connected intricately, allowing the building above to function in these modern ways we've grown accustom to.

When I was a terrible nail biter kid I was obsessed with the idea of being a woman with long strong nails that would click across the desk, across a type writer, across teeth. I imagined women like that didn't obsess about anything. They were strong, secure, had their hair wrapped up in a clean bun and drove cars, with the shiny hard nails glistening as they turned the wheel.
My imagination was severely vivid as a child. I still wake myself up talking in my dreams and nightmares. I'll be Fighting, Falling in Love, Crying, Giving Brilliant Speeches.

As a child I couldn't wait to grow up and be away from my family and that house. I wanted freedom from day one, and simply could not handle any type of corrupt authority.
I would envision her again, the nail lady, with her clean hair, and watch her walking down the street alone. Living alone. Buying and wearing clean fancy clothing. She was me, who I was going to grow up and be. She never had a husband, children, any family but perhaps friends? Maybe a cat? She walked proud. She was always alone.

I know I am still "young". I know it takes a lifetime to figure it out, and that I'll never be perfect or healed in some fantastically angelic way.
Back to the foundation, I don't have the tools to dig the trench and lay the bricks, connect the plumbing and figure out the wiring and all that bussiness. I'm seriously not interested in learning any of this, it's dull to me. But I don't want to be constantly untangling myself from strangers magnolia trees and intersection traffic lights. It's terrible to feel like there is no bottom, like the lower half of my body is hacked, like a barbie with the legs ripped off. No base, just falling, just floating into space with arms reaching around frantically, eyes looking down, knowing what's happening, seeing it happen.