Outside my bedroom window, fog dances above the surface of the pool, thick in some places, swirling streaks of thick and thin in others, misty and white and making the world feel chilly.

It is chilly. 59 degrees (F).
I had to turn on the heat last night, but this is mitigated by the fact that the temperature will creep toward 85 this afternoon, and I will end up turning on the a/c around 4 PM, but just for a little while.

The bed was too big last night, and I was cold, despite the warm bodies of Zorro and Miss Cleo. Why is it than when Fuzzy is home he is relegated to 1/8 of the bed, and there is never enough room, and when he’s gone there are vast acres of space, and too much?

I think there are weird bed physics that make the mattresses expand and contract depending on the number of occupants.

I’ve rediscovered radio. I go through phases when I hate noise, and stages when I want to surround myself with the spoken word. At times like this, I prefer radio to television because I can just listen to it, and don’t have to watch. I’m listening to NPR as I write this. Even when the news is bad, and nearly causes me to drop lead weights on top of the radio for delivering it, there is something comforting about NPR. It’s just so homey, unlike the ClearChannel clones that monopolize top-40 and even more alternative pop.

I am wearing a purple cotton tank top and my favorite purple, turquoise, and white “woof woof” pajamas. I like pajama bottoms, but prefer t-shirts or tank tops to traditional pajama tops. Always have.

I think it’s a morning for oatmeal and hot chocolate, rather than yogurt, toast, and coffee.