This Morning.

It is 430 am, Kapha flicks his tail waiting for the word. It comes down in a heavy flop on my alarm clock.
"Ten more minutes" I mumble. Kapha readjusts his head and closes his eyes.
The oblivion of the days melt into my nice dark sleep.

5:00am and the Cell phone goes off, alarm ringing. Now Kapha is tapping my arm with his paw. I notice his gentleness this morning, and thank God for his recent understanding of cat claws and human skin.

Eventually I decide that another ten minutes is warranted. Asleep and cozy in the warmth of my blanklets, Kapha settles in near my head. The moment is perfect and I sleep, this time straight through.

Now its 7:07 am and I am already late for work. The panic doesn't set in, usually coupled with a string of expletives. Instead I sit up on my bed, swinging my legs over the side and ask the strangest question.
"What is wrong, honey?" This makes three times this week I have overslept. The inner child is quiet so I turn to my inner warrior for some understanding. The four parts of the hoop, all intertwined to make a whole person. And no one is speaking this morning.
I stand up and pull on my shorts over my pj bottoms. Sit back down on the bed and reach for the open dresser drawer. A clean t-shirt to don over my white tank top, to the bathroom for a much needed teeth cleaning. Kapha is batting my legs intermittenly enjoying the game, "attack Mommy". My mind runs through this weeks events and I realize that my prior assesment makes sense.

Last night while driving to Circle K to return movies and get a cup of coffee the thought of a friendship walked through my mind. I was upset she didn't come over, or even call to let me know she wasn't coming over. I expected it, which leads me to the irratibility. Then school, grocerry shopping went on the back burner and the purchase of a car. I am freedom bound and all the items that come with a car. New battery, cleaning supplies, gas, price of said gas and the inevitable knowingness that my life is moving according to plan. In the interim I am slammed with the notion that fast is not my style. Never has been. Whether it is women, friends, writing or driving fast doesn't enter into the equation.

The sudden realization of my family, both sides, brings a smile to my face. On my father's side they are farmers, builders of families. On my mother's side they are akin to style and automobiles, Grandpa rebuilds trucks from the 40's and 50's and my Aunt paints them.

Perhaps then it makes perfect sense to drive a two door convertible wearing a cowboy hat and boots.

I am a cowgirl with style.
That thought made me smile.

Cool