Monday morning

 It was really hard to wake up with morning. My soul creaked and ached. There was anxiety pooling somewhere, I could sense it. 

But, I filled our mint green well used electric kettle with water, always more than I need. While the water heated, I unloaded dishes from our dishwasher. It's a little cold in the house. Our dog who is usually pitter pattering after me is holed up in Avery's room likely curled up at her feet or by her side. My stirrings are not enough to get her up. Soon I will hear her scratching on the door to be close to me, but not just yet. 

Now, it's just the water heating. Stacking glasses on our open oak shelf. 

I sit on my writing chair and let the hot milky bitter coffee start to work its' magic. 

By 5:30 I am writing away. Adding and spreading ideas across the page like a messy application of frosty. I calm the edges and then abruptly apply more. 

At 6:30 I stop. 

I did the thing for me. After I am lost to making oatmeal, and waking up very reluctant teens. They seemed pained over the idea of entering the world. I play music and sizzle chicken breasts while a small pot of rice cooks. I know they are supposed to make their own lunches or some such thing at this point but it's a good outlet for my love and worry right now. Food is medicine.

There is frost on the car but we are inside with the heater going. Our carpool makes it's way across town toward the high school and then toward the K-8. A full morning and the day has just started.