Starting the Day Right

It's a habit now.

Everytime I light the burner under the coffee pot these days, my head starts singing in Pink's 'who-you-lookin'-at??' voice.

"Ahhhhhhhhhm wakin' up so you better get the coffee started!"

And then maybe two or three cups into my quaffing it just progresses, regresses?, 'goes on' from there....

"Open up the Folger's and it's easy to see
None o' that ol' decaf's gonna do it for me!"

Only now all is in my real voice. Not quite so pitch-perfect but at least sassy. And there's some (dare I say it?) dancing going on as well. In an Eeyore nightshirt. One that says, "I don't do mornings." At least I think that's what's written in that worn and faded word balloon....

I like to sleep. I do it well. And while I'm doing it well my mind is in overdrive. There are images and scenarios and metaphors and characters stacking up in there like cordwood, all stuff that needs processing. I'm learning things. I'm being inspired. And I'm getting exhausted. So much so that starting my day can be like pulling the cord on a lawnmower that hasn't had a tune-up in Forever. Not gonna happen -- at least not anytime soon -- so I might as well give it a rest and try again later....

And so -- singing and dancing aside -- if the prospect of coffee is enough to make this Eeyore open her eyes, then the stuff is fairy gold in my book.

Because a day has to be started after all. :)
...

Night School

SCENE: The dark interior of an oceanside cave at low tide. A wooden boat appears in the shadows and rocks in the gentle surf there, impaled on stalagmites thrusting up through the gentle waves. Small white fish school at the edges of its wounds and struggle as if fighting for space. On closer inspection, these are human skulls shaped like fish: flattened and disk-like, with fins that flip and tremble. Their little jaws yammer and their little teeth nibble, silently eating away at the boat until nothing is left but its ribs. FADE TO BLACK....

When I told James about my dream the next morning, he listened with amusement before offering me his opinion. As usual, I was all ready to go somewhere scary with it, but his thoughts were that my subconscious was addressing my frustrating weight loss attempts. And that even though the weight's been 'falling off' me at the crazymaking amount of an ounce or two a week, those ounces are adding up in little bits. Or 'bites,' in this case.

Eh. Good enough. I'm sure if I'd thunk on it more I'd have come up with something 'deeper and disturbinger,' because deep and disturbing is just how I roll....

So fast-forward to a recent morning and a recent dream:

SCENE: Deep space as seen through the visor glass of an astronaut's helmet, accompanied by the sounds of human breathing. There's nothing but pinpoints of heavenly light for as far as the eye can see in any direction. Our main character is intently focused -- not on the beauty of the stars and galaxies, not on the peacefulness of the weightlessness and silence, not on the happy memories that fill their head and heart -- but on impending death. Will it be peaceful? Will it be painful? And just how alone can one person BE, anyway?? FADE TO BLACK....

James had already left for work and wasn't here to interpret this dream, but that's OK. I read it as this: Death comes for us all eventually, and no one accompanies us into the void. And so why spend what's left of Life focused on the inevitable when there's still peace to experience, and memories to make, and a whole dang universe of diamonds all around us?

...