01.15.05

Puff Piece or Fifty-Seven Things I Love in the Morning

Every day is special when I wake up before dawn and the clock-radio is playing jazz (1) rather than barking news. I turn on my tiny TV (2) and switch to the local weather feed. Timing my wake-up to coincide (3) with the local-local weather makes me think about what I'm going to wear. I roll out of my flannel-sheeted (4) bed, and wrap myself in my extra-long (to cover toesies), leopard-print, Polarfleece bathrobe (5). Greet Kali HellKitty (6) who purrs (7) and utters ecstatic chirps (8). Stumble into my fake white marble and gold-toned pot-metal bathroom, to turn on the water so it'll be hot when I get into the extra-large stall with a seat in the corner (9).

That first pee (10) in the morning is a wonderful thing. It's like all the bad dreams are washed away. Oh, the water is finally hot (11), so I step into the stall and slide the door shut. Getting my head under the water, as my hair and body go from slightly chilled and dry to toasty warm and wet (12) makes the trip worthwhile.

My sandalwood soap (13) lathers up and sends me to an exotic neverland I call Xatonia (14) where all the men (15) are gallant (16), a little bit wicked (17), and bold (18). I run my soapy hands over my skin (19) and re-acquaint myself with myself.

My shampoo (20) is a non-sodium laurel/laureth sulfate (no harsh detergents and kinder to my hair--which I'm growing long (21)) and smells like mint (22) and rosemary (23). Some mornings, if there's time, I reinforce my unnatural relationship with my shower head (24, 25, 26, 27, 28).

Out of the shower and grab my towel, which is warm from being over a heating vent (29). Out to my vanity, where I spritz on toner (30) and put on girly-girly face glop (31). I clean my ears with cotton swabs (32). Kali HellKitty's water bowl is rinsed and re-filled. I am amazed at the slight sliminess on the bottom of her dish after only one day. It is quickly rinsed away (33).

Clothing is chosen. Curl eyelashes with eyelash-curler (34). Make-up is applied. When I don't spider-leg the mascara (35), I feel accomplished.

Out to the kitchen, where I make a cup of coffee (36) with my one-cup, drip coffee filter thingy (37). The hot water comes from a heater that sits on the counter (38) and always has hot water. Yum!

Feed Kali HellKitty, who talks (39) and rubs (40) against my legs as I get her food into her dish. Before I put the dish down, I tap it with a spoon, cluck twice, and she sits (41). It's the only trick I've been able to persuade her to do.

Take that first, heavenly sip of coffee (42) and eat a piece of toast with honey (43) on it. When I have time, I do a proper breakfast with orange juice (44), flour tortillas (45), an organic egg (46) (yeah, pretentious me, but they taste more like I think eggs should taste).

Grab my coffee and head to the door, as Kali HellKitty follows (47). Wrap myself in my big, cozy pea coat (48), put on my fuzzy, black scarf (49) that's extra-long and I made, and head out the door. Frost on the windshield catches the streetlights and looks like my grandmother's fake, sugared fruit, holiday decorations (50). The first bit of brightening occurs in the sky and it's different every morning (51).

I open Tora Torakku's (52) door and turn him on. The heater works (53). I scrape the ice from the windshield, and sit while everything warms up. I slide a CD into my radio (54) and soon the dulcet tones of Combustible Edison (55), or Pink Martini (56), or Pizzicato-5 (57) are filling Tora.

I take a sip of coffee, and head out for work.

Aaaaaaah.

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