Pink-gray dawn peeps through the bedroom curtains exploding my eyes awake before I’m ready.
That dream – I’m in the middle of a dream – what is that dream?! No, no, no! Not yet! Don’t wake me up now!
…I remember He was there, saying something about … about … about ….
But, like trees in the landscape, disappearing rapidly from sight as a train hurtles forward and I strain to see from the caboose,
All elements of the dream are lost forever. There is no turning back. Poof! It’s gone. Lesson lost.
So, I bask, rebelliously, in the luxury of one of the ever-so-soft and plush blankets
purchased to match whatever color of décor I have chosen for the room this time.
(Being stuck in one place for several years, my Free and Wanderlust Spirit compels me to change the internal environment frequently to prevent my going mad.)
Reluctantly, I give up and plant my feet on the floor.
The cats. Always the cats.
Gotta go feed the cats, who are crouched outside the bedroom door awaiting my appearance.
It’s truly astounding that they ALWAYS know when I’m awake. I can lie perfectly still in bed, but when my eyes open and consciousness descends into my brain, magically, they start calling my name, and I can get away with nothing. No more languid resting. No meditation allowed. No silent moments before the day hits me broadside.
That is, of course, if they have not already MeeYowled me awake at 5 a.m.
It’s a January morn – cold – with beige-brown, bare-limbed trees and patches of gray gravel showing through now-dirty snow. Not an inspiring vision. Not a wonderland. Just a reminder of more shovelling in the winter horoscope forecast.
What is the best use of my time right now?
My brain loves to learn and to express. Thus, the clack of my rapid-fire fingers typing on a keyboard tends to win,
displacing the need to find space and safe cover for too many household items which remain victims of yet another basement flood.
At least, the tv is fixed again. It appears Xfinity has used the “beauty face” mask for all programs, simultaneously showing a person’s every pore, freckle, and wrinkle; yet, they all look retouched by an artist who overdid it. The ladies’ false eyelashes are everywhere apparent.
I know I owe a blog to each of my business websites, but I cannot muster up a topic about which I want to write. So, these ramblings may suffice for one of them. The winter holidays are over, and the news is full of talk about collapsing democracies, treason, and the suffering of immigrant children plus all of us affected by the government shutdown. I think I’ll share pontifications on a more academic subject in February, instead.
Do It The Write Way! Let My Fingers Do Your Talking!