Late Lunch on Friday

Ok. I did feel better on Tuesday, but have not had the energy/motivation to write. I haven't worried about motivation before, I don't need it to write. I don't need to 'feel the creative muse rumbling in my soul.' It's a bunch of bullshit. You just get up and write. I suppose I can use the excuse that I have been thinking in the morning. I have sucked down coffee, smoked and read the news.

Every once in a while, I have to rearrange a cat off of the keyboard. Or take the dog for a walk. I occasionally eat something, some yogurt or fruit. I have not been able to nap. Actually, scratching this or that cat or dog takes up most of the time. And before I know it, it is the afternoon, and too late to write.

I have cooked for a friend who is, now, in the hospital with pneumonia. I have gone to therapy, AA meetings, doctor appointments, and a dive called Richee Freeze, which is a great burger place on Williamson Road. I have emptied litter boxes, and blown fine fur off the keyboard. A man who loves me, gave me a TV, and now, I can watch some local channels, of which, PBS is the most important. I have received friends, and gone out to lunch and had tea.

I go to sleep when I please and wake when the dog has to pee. I am titering off of my mood stabilizer: my stomach is a mess on this new one. I text a man I love a good deal, and some others, too. Sometimes I talk on the phone, and sometimes, I don't answer.

I look out of the windows a lot. I watch the city and the sky. The trees in the distance talk to me. Sometimes, if the music is loud enough, the cars talk, too. Motorbikes, or scooters send Max, the dog, into a frenzy. One trespassed on his yard one time, and he has never forgotten the insult to his kind, to this day. They are all relatives of the original beast, sent to test him.

He goes with me, now, more than he used to. I don't like to leave him alone, in this new place. Although he grows used to the idea that I will return. The cats rocket from one room to the next, spilling food and rearranging rugs and furniture. When I leave, I turn the radio on for them. They like National Public Radio; a nice mix of talk, news and classical and jazz music.

My couch is a lump of dog and quilt and pillows, with the addition of a cat at any one time. My bed is a lump of pajamas, electric blanket, quilt, sheets, wool blanket, and pillows. It becomes harder and harder to 'make it' in the morning. The wrinkles and the cats seem immoveable.

The Christmas tree is still up, and lit most nights. I love the glow and the ornaments. There are spare quilts for guests in the living room. Just in case.