The morning, beginning.
Gatos on the bed, purring, a good start. Willa's kitty fury appearing contained. Sucio's wavering bravery, appearing to hold. Until it gets Scary.
6:40ish, light dawning (yep, branches illuminated against the sky).
Pixie P'dough, cracking open. Interneting, starting; Yahoo, annoying with its arbitrary closing of my open emails (my list! grrrrr).
Tea kettle, making boiling noises, hissing as it scalds its way out of the kettle, over my newly replenished and favorited Awake tea.
A taste of a new addiction (damn you, Anna), Fran's gray salt caramels, dear-god good -- apparently Obama's favorites. But of COURSE our President has amazing taste.
More words seem to be burbling, so I take my tall white-with-raised-red-hearts mug (inherited from Ralph when he left NH) and Pixie, migrate to the living room, open the half wooden shutters, wrap a slightly turquoised baby-blue blanket around me, plunk down on the couch. Listen to the increasing traffic outside my window on Washington Street. Think about work and income, about the writing and editing I want to do, about finding my right clients, about whether my tea is getting too strong.
There was a whole interim of brain and computer activity, it's just not getting recorded right now/here.
Lucinda Williams' Essence to quietly close the day.
Back on bed with gatos, sprawled on stomach, tapping away with some long finger reaches incorporated. Much buzzing in my brain. With this new endeavor I'm beginning, I feel like I'm back in school again, but the stakes are much higher. There's tons of information rushing by, it's a matter of figuring out which to grab, and then realize when I'm doing too much grabbing and need to do more of the doing, then selecting the most important of the doing ... repeat repeat.
Floating outside myself, it doesn't seem so terribly difficult ... and yet.
And yet ... would I trade this for doing anything else right now? I don't believe I would.