Stream of consciousness: 21 minutes

Writing 101 assignment:  Unlock the Mind.  Free write for 20 minutes (which I changed to 21 so it’s divisible by 3) ..no editing…

6:39pm –

I woke up this morning from a dream:  I was in a room of people, shadowy.  recognized J.  from high school and we were somehow communicating, talking?, D. walked in wearing suit and tie and smiling at me until he saw J, then J left and I walked away, studiously ignoring D. and sitting down in a chair to view him on the bed, shadowy people were still there when J came back and brought me a blanket and as he was wrapping it around me I noticed that my breasts were bare and they were my young, perky breasts not the saggy, crone-tits that I have now and I demurely covered them with a peasant blouse and looked at J and woke up.  It was raining, misting, gloomily damp and the cat had given up on waking me at the normal time of 7am and was sleeping at the foot of the bed.  It was 8:30 or so and I lay there for a few minutes saying my morning prayer:  I thank Thee, my heavenly Father, through Jesus Christ Thy dear Son, that Thou hast graciously kept me this night from all harm and danger and I pray that Thou wouldst keep me this day also from sin and every evil, that all my doings in life may please Thee, for into Thy Hands I commend myself, my body and soul and all things, let Thy Holy Angel be with me that the evil foe may have no power over me.  Amen.  Then I thought about the dream and wondered if it meant anything and wondered how people from high school can still show up in a person’s dreams even when they’re 61 years old and so over it, or not?  No, really over it, no doubt at all.  And what should we do today, since it’s raining we’ll have to come up with something inside.  I talk /think to myself all the time and often refer to myself as we, especially when I am questioning and it is my honest, sincere belief that God Himself is  my “other” voice, though I certainly don’t think it’s not me, or maybe I do and should be institutionalized.  I wonder about that a lot, though, as I go through the morning routine, feed the cat, half of a can of meaty bits, not shreds or filets, dammit, meaty bits, and add just a little water while he meows impatiently, then grind the beans, get the coffee brewing and head for the shower.  I try not to notice all the physical changes, the cellulite thighs and gut and I clean it up and shave it off, brushing and swishing the remaining teeth and getting dressed.  Put the half-and-half in the coffee and bring it on in to the  east room which I like to call the morning room because the rising sun shows just above the trees outside the window where I sit in what Casey calls the Captains chair, then open up the laptop and check in with the Outside World.  2 mailboxes, 1 facebook account, check the blog stats just to see if someone’s noticed, read the local news online.   Today I have a mess in the front room that needs to be cleaned up, so I empty out 3 drawers of file cabinets and put most of it upstairs in another file cabinet, then begin to load dishes back into the hutch cupboard that belonged to my Aunt Bernie.  Many of the dishes also came from Bernie, but some came from Mom and others are mine and I think about each one as I replace it.  I love to arrange shelves, and rearrange shelves, and then move things around some more, and I pull cookbooks out and move them to the kitchen, then move some cookie jars and signs and salt and pepper shakers onto the decorative shelves of the hutch, then sit and admire them while I eat a turkey sandwich, and open windows and it rains and rains and rains, and I run down to the consigment shop and buy an office chair and use all rolling chairs around the table and put the others upstairs and sit admiring it with a strawberry sparkling water when Casey gets home.  I cook supper, chicken, asparagus, mushrooms, watch some Rifleman, talk with Casey, and write for 21 minutes whatever I’m thinking.

7:00pm

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