I want to write 'in swing' today, as I did in yesterday's post. Jazz musicians call it scatting. But I don't want to repeat my song from yesterday. This is just an idle post, for a lazy day.
Just to prove I am not crazy, our ancestors slept like me...
Another morning, another cup of coffee. It tastes fine and black, strong. The water I drink is just tap water, pretty clean as modern water goes, and cold. I don't have to filter it because of mining or fracking. Yet. A purple flower still sits on my bedside table, and I have heaven here, in this place, in this early morning hour. The cold air streams in the window of freedom that is open for the cats. The dog is red-eyed, and tries to sleep.
But I am awake from first sleep, and second sleep is several hours away. I have to quit smoking. I don't know how I will accomplish it, but I just have to. Otherwise, I am quite happy this morning. I have toilet paper, and clean water. These are things people run out of, even in America. More than that, I have luxury, my silk stool sits on the Persian carpet at the foot of the bed, the colors of the carpet competing with the collection of cats on my dresser, which are hued in purple, orange, and brown.
I have antique mahogany, and walnut, and cherry wood. Satins and velvets, and the clean white walls, and the grey carpet. I feel one of the idle rich in most of the world...I think leisurely, of getting a small, potted tree for the entrance. Before the dark falls in winter. Before the iron lengths of the trees stretch themselves on the lawn, like the walls of my apartment meet the grey floor. I have music at the touch of a button, and candles that smell like the woodlands.
I have my copy of The Gulag Archipelago on top of the mother-of-pearl box brought from Egypt. I light the ginger candle beside them. The 2 unicorn meat eating cats that come to their name have been out, and return to sleep. Poor Minkins, who will not come when called, only has these early mornings to go out. I cannot call him in, you see, when I am ready to leave for the day. But don't feel too sorry for him. He enjoys about 6 hours out, before dawn, the best time of the night to roam.
Georgia, a grey and gold cat, sits on my lap, with a paw stretched out, and it is a luxury she is safe, and sound, and well-fed. Her fur is soft, and strong, and her ears are delicate, tipped with gold. Ratty, the orange tabby, sleeps at my feet, curled. Georgia licks the paw print on my arm, the tattoo for Eddie, my service dog.
No pound of fudge tonight, not one cookie, or piece of cake. Only the candles, and the pillows from Cairo, that sit on the bench. And the luxurious feel of fur...