Morning

Got too much shit going on to think about much right now—except for an hour or two in the morning when, on purpose, I move slowly.

I open my eyes around 8:30 am. No alarm here. I don't believe in em (unless I have an appointment, but I try not to have appointments). I splash water on my face and tell Lefty he's a handsome boy. We spend some minutes in the kitchen boiling water for coffee and scraping peanut butter on toast, then I pull up a stool and read my morning correspondance. The house is warm, the sunlight—if there is any—slanting in sideways. After about 7 minutes of computer work I get antsy, put a jacket on, and walk out the back door carrying one plastic bag, one tennis ball, and one dog rope coiled up in my hand.

I'm always happy to be outside escaping from office work. As partners, the dog and I head walking, which is much different than simply walking on your own. It's purposeful—the main purpose for both parties being looking at things and smelling what's around you. In fact, I always take the streets with the best smelling plant life—zigzagging through the neighborhood in hopes of piercing every possible cloud of blossom scent.

By, say, 10:30 I'm back inside and the calm is already fading—I'm getting kinda anxious, feeling the weights and pressures of things that need doing hanging like dark heavy clouds, and so, finally, now is when I tie on my shoes and head out to face the storm.