Monday morning

It’s cold in the house – I didn’t want to wake up, pulling myself reluctantly from my sleepy cuddle into my fluffy comforter 20 minutes late.

I shuffled to the bathroom, squinting at the brightness. My eyes are sensitive to light – pupils always too dilated. Tears will come if I forget my sunglasses, as if my eyes can’t protect themselves adequately by constricting, limiting the light that comes in, like normal people. So I avoid harsh light, protecting myself, always seeking the comfortable. I don’t use the light about the sink, I use the light near the center of my long bathroom. In the indirect glow, I forced eyes wide to insert contacts.

Losing the first one, I continued to the left eye so I could see to look for the missing lens. After a quick search of the floor, I grabbed a new box to put in a new one. Try to remember, I told myself, then you can replace the left one tomorrow.

I patted the covers, the pressure reaching the dog beneath them at the foot of the bed. It’s early still – she’ll get up when she’s ready.

Alone, I continued down the hallway, stopping at the guest bathroom to brush my teeth, not remembering why I keep my contacts in one room and toothpaste in another. I inhaled deeply, wanting to smell coffee.

I carefully measured grounds last night, spooning beans into my grinder, transferring them to the filter waiting on the counter, and filling the pot with just the right amount of water. I pressed auto-on, I mused, and set the timer. But I found myself standing just inside my kitchen, the tile cold against my feet after the comfort of carpet through the rest of the house. Must be an AM/PM issue – either the actual or program time is wrong.

Sighing, I pressed the red power button and resolved to fix it later.

I picked up my laptop off the ottoman, where I’d left it last night. I carried it around all weekend; packed it carefully away to take to my parents’, brought it home only having dialed in twice. I didn’t write at all – not a post, not a paper, not a grant. Just pushed everything out of my head to let family stuff – Mom and her struggles at work, Dad and his stress test, the little one and her constant desire to have her own way.

She went from whine to giggle in less the a second several times. Having her wishes granted, she’s precious. Sweetly ducking her head and smiling at you, while she peeks from beneath lowered lashes. She let me hold her right away, praising her beauty and intelligence. She fell asleep in my arms on Saturday morning. I had one protectively around her back, the other pushed long bangs of the lightest brown away from her closed eyes. I wondered if I’d have this, thought sadly about the man I’ve yet to meet or perhaps recognize. Then I pushed that thought away too. I didn’t drive so long to mope.

I spent hours last night reading, have surrounded myself in other people’s words all weekend, in fact. Listening raptly to the free member selections from Audible on the drive there and back, returning home last night to books from Amazon on my porch and 41 new entries on bloglines. I didn’t have words of my own, starting several posts in bursts of energy, only to be left looking at paragraphs, unsure of what I wanted to say.

It doesn’t take long though – several hours of solitude – to make me want to connect again. To get past my curiosity of how things are going for you, and to direct some attention to myself. The coffee’s done, and the threat of snow was an empty one. I should be getting ready for my early meetings, preparing a little more for my first volunteer tutoring session this evening. But I’m comfortable, warm again under a green fleece blanket, curled up on the couch cushions while my fingers click the laptop keys.

I guess I’m done here – eager to publish, put something new on the blog. Then I’ll get ready. Drink coffee, curl my hair, find make-up I took home but didn’t use. I think it’s still tucked away in my suitcase.

It’s good to be back to the routine, comfortable to be again isolated from the outside world, except when I seek other people. It was good to leave it too, surrounded with people and noise and the comfort of family.