Morning Has Broken

Another Friday morning in paradise ... I watch as Anakin Skywalker, The Last Cat Standing, stretches his way out of his bed on the floor by my side to begin his morning routine.  An extended morning greeting follows, complete with head bumps and loud purring.  I swallow a hydroxyzine, which is supposed to give me some relief from the chronic itching in my hands and arms, without knocking me on my ass.

There seems to be an insurmountable distance between my eyes and my brain, as though my senses are operating on automatic while my brain remains disengaged.  I have been awake since 5:30, and have crawled back into bed to soak up those last precious minutes of semi-sleep.  From under my eyelids I can see Anakin riding my husband's shoulders as they head downstairs for tea and kitty treats.  In my half-wake, headachy state, Anakin resembles an Egyptian Pharaoh, borne upon the Royal Litter to the Nether Regions of my home's first floor.  He plays his part with panache, his silky black-and-white head held high and proud, perusing his kingdom.

Comforting rituals which do nothing to assuage that vague feeling of dread that causes me a stubborn reluctance to leave the sweet emotional safety of my bed.  My "boys" - Woodrow, Indiana, and Romeo - are prowling the halls and stairway, heading first to the kitchen to stand in line for their morning snack, and then back upstairs to check on my progress.  Chelsea sleeps through everything, that lucky dog.  Eventually Chelsea and I make our way down the dark stairway.  I am carrying her, all six pounds of short-legged little Yorkie, teetering on the edge of early old age.  We teeter together.  She is rewarded with extra treats for using the pee-pee pad,  For me, it's all about that first cup of coffee.

My weight, which I monitor daily, is like an old Barry Manilow song:  "I'm lost, I'm found, I'm up I'm down, but somehow I survive ..."  I understand my sudden rapid weight loss even less than I understood the sudden rapid weight gain.  Could it have all been related to the start and stop of the Lyrica?  Is my body undergoing another one of those momentous hormonal shifts so prevalent among Woman of a Certain Age?  Have the scars from my 2003 gastric bypass surgery woken up and rearranged my digestive system yet again?

There are no court hearings scheduled today, but a truckload of office work which must be addressed expeditiously.   I sense a disturbance in the Force, and try to beat down my anger at the recent advent of the office dementor ("sucking the joy out of people's lives since 1632.")  And worst of all, the coffee is not working.  My eyes continue to spin in their sockets, while my eyelids droop uselessly.

Happy Halloween.  Let's have another cup of coffee.