Sleep was fitful from about 2:00 on. For a while Zorro was curled up in my armpit, but then he wasn’t and I kept thinking, in my sleep-befuddled state, that he’d disappeared somehow. As in vanished from existence. Miss Cleo was being good – for her – no pushing higher and higher on the bed, nudging the humans into her preferred congfiguration, just staying tucked into a black and white ball with her head on my feet.
Rolling thunder and lightning flashing in my window woke me about five, and I realized I was sweaty, and kept thinking I needed to ask if it was safe to shower when there was lightning, which normally would never have occurred to me. My mind was really zooming to different places in the wee hours. Zorro was unphased, but Miss Cleo pushed her nose into my hand, and dug at the covers till I let her under – she doesn’t like storms.
At one point I was dreaming about a pair of red shoes that were more comfortable than anything, heels, and made me feel pretty, and that I wanted to wear them, but they were just too garish with all the outfits I was considering. “What if I changed the top to my fluffy red sweater?” my dream-self asked her mother. “It’s not even October, yet,” came the reply. It should be noted that while I wear heels once in a while, I don’t own red ones, and I would never seek justification to NOT wear flats. I live in flats. Flats are safer.
Have developed odd addiction to Pop-Cap’s ZUMA. Smashing those spiralling balls into oblivion is a really good stress reliever. Also, it’s kind of zen. No, really.
This morning, around six I escorted Zorro Dogg and Miss Cleo to the yard for their morning rituals and noticed five tiny geckos on the wall near the sliding door, their silvery skin and shining eyes looking like art etched into the rain-damp bricks. Miss Cleo didn’t notice them, and I’m glad.
It’s 7:23 and we’re off to church as soon as I figure out what to wear, and stop at Starbucks. I’m tired and crabby, and don’t really want to go, but singing in the morning always makes me feel better.