I've been trying to write more, which is why I'm up writing when I have to leave for work in 15 minutes, while two kittens perform morning Ninja Anti-Gravity Cirque de Soleil routines up my walls and the rabbits calmly ignore them while chewing on orchard hay.
It's a good life. Did I mention there's also good Indian tea?
I like my place. It's small, cozy, and full of creatures who pay attention to one another. And to me. I like my bed, my green walls, my small kitchen with the tangerine dresser I use as a counter/storage piece. I like the pink couch, the trash-picked furniture, the ancient tiled bathroom.
I will go off to work, where large-screen TVs will play CNN relentlessly (remember when CNN was actually a news channel and not some FOX news wannabe?) and I will marvel that I live in a country where people like Mitt Romney an Rick Santorum are considered viable presidential candidates and cretins like Michelle Bachman and Sarah Palin are given airtime. Where women have to fight all over again for ownership of their bodies, and where there is actual discussion about whether an unarmed teenage boy deserved to be shot by an armed nut job who chased him down and cornered him.
You want a modern-day lynching, here it is. Hello, Florida.
I'm slowly coming off meds. My doctor is taking it slowly, more slowly than I'd like (patience was never my strong suit, once I had a goal in mind), and as my brain re-adjusts I feel sharper. Yeah, a little angrier, but that's OK; in this world, people should be angry. But I'm also happy.
And oh yeah. Late for work.