MorningTime

Just talking about my mornings.

My cell phone alarm wakes my with its customary morning jingle; "Fireflies" by Owl City. I don't know why I like it so much. I think it reminds me of California. Either way, I hear it blasting its sound waves at me somewhere between my sheet and comforters, competing the the muffling cotton for my attention. It it getting louder? Of course. It's not going to stop unless I turn it off.

I see the tops of two pairs of fuzzy ears as I open my eyes. They always seem to to get up at least an hour before me and wait on my bed, making sneaky rooting noises until that alarm. I pretend to be asleep, but it is too late. They have seen me stir! All bets are off. Gutter is perched precariously on my stomach with a pointed look. Autumn is laying across my feet, making wind with her tail, TuffBall in mouth. She makes it a point to drag every toy in the house into my bed during the night. So, in between my pillows are an assortment of ropes, balls, bones, and stuffed squeaktoys, which *SQUEAK* mercilessly as I rouse to get up.

I stumble out of bed and pull open the blinds of the bedroom window for Gutter. She won't leave me alone until she has her lookout platform. She is Lord Protector over all creatures squirrel-size or smaller, and is very protective of her domain. Autumn waits patiently; she knows I do things at my own pace in the mornings. My mornings are my own; completely. Before the day has set its course for me, before the world has rendered me even slightly bitter or benign, before men, women, and screaming children, work, school, stupid drivers, lonely days and crazy parties, I have my morning, my little slice of quiet solitary heaven and truth.

Shower. Towel-dried and bleary-eyed, I emerge from the steam and into the sunlit kitchen. Nothing happens before my coffee. Gutter still gets irritated that I don't allow the counters to be included in her domain. So, she is content to crawl around my feet and yowl at me every time I'm in there. In the morning I am never dressed. What's the point? The longer I get to lay around in my own skin, the more content I am. Nobody can see me, anyway. In the morning, I am curly-haired, makeup-less, unmasked, unaltered ME, and I feel like a Goddess.  I am like my mother; I always light candles in the morning to freshen the house and pull the windows to let in the natural light. My living areas always smells of mulled cider and chocolate cookies, and my bedroom of roses. This particular part of the Eastside is yet to be inhabited. I could probably walk outside and have a cig in the buff and only the trees would see me, which is nice.

I open the door to let Autumn out. She doesn't go, cocking her head and staring at me quizzically. She never likes to be alone. Not even in the yard. Gutter is the same way. They follow me from room to room in the house, always, and invade my side of the bed at night. I don't mind it, it keeps me warm. When they get to 20 and 50 pounds, however, it may be a bit different.

I am comfortable sitting around in the morning light with my strong coffee and weak resolve to do much of anything. After all, this is MY morning, and I'll have it any way I please. I lay down some bacon on the stove and flip open my newest book. This is me, what I do. I drag out this short hour or two for as long as I can before duty calls and my perfect bubble of happy is popped. Tranquility, Peace, and Aesthetic Beauty, all for me. In the mornings, at least. And I wouldn't have it any other way.