12/22

I wake with the cat chewing on my fingers.  I take them away and he goes for my nose.  Dig that into the pillow and he mounts my back.  Kneads.  Purrs.  Seeks out an ear.  Takes a bite.

And I'm trying to think of why it's so hard to get up this morning.  The haze of gray and trickle of rain beyond my window aren't exactly inviting.  The burlap sacks of raw coffee beans downstairs aren't urgently calling to be tossed in an oven.  And I suppose I did venture out last evening.  Saw an acquaintance, went out, met up, killed time.  When I returned home I even took the effort to throw some water on the stove and pour it over some Vietnamese noodles.  With all the spices and dehydrated vegetables a ninety-nine cent meal could ask for.

But maybe my inability to rise can all be attributed to a Tuesday.  A holiday week.  The season to gather with family and friends and exchange gifts and warmth and I'll be doing none of those things.  

I'll be camped out on the floor wondering why my cat can't find as much solace as I do in the vast lands of unconsciousness.  Ho hum.