Here I sitThe cat is on my lap. I have made tea so sweet it should set my hair on fire and have me running around the block.
I am sitting hereThe cat is licking herself. It is a reminder of the survival mechanisms built into us. We eat, we sleep, we wash ourselves.
I am drinking teaThe nutritional value of my tea heavily favors simple carbohydrates, but we do need calories. The fundamental need of the machine is energy to keep it going.
I cannot refill my cupThe cat has gone to sleep. if I move she will wake up. She might even leave. Her presence is more important than the machine"s need for energy, at least for the moment. The muscles tensed to keep me sitting and the movement of my fingertips don’t strain its resources. There are still energy reserves to do dip into.
I do not moveThe heat of the cat seeps through the blanket that covers my legs. I have slid down the chair until I am almost laying down and I have covered myself with that against the chill in the room. My legs rest on a stool. My thighs bridge the gap between chair and stool. The cat sleeps on the bridge, as if bridges donnot collapse.
The air is pressing down on meThe cat stirred as the other cat climbed into my lap. Their relationship is undecided. For a moment I thought they might both leave, but instead the other cat squeezed in between the armrest, the first cat and my arm. She might lay her head on the flank on the first cat, but right now she is purring in the snug place she made for herself.
I have things to doI had an appointment this afternoon, but when I called to cancel I was told it was not until Tuesday next week. The second cat seems to be sleeping now too, her cheek against the rump of the first cat; her purring is barely audible. The first cat twitches. Maybe she is dreaming of the bridge collapsing.
I am beginning to acheMy neck and lower back are stretched into the hook of an f. My legs are crossed under the cat, both hips being pulled out of alignment. My right hand is going numb from resting too high on the armrest while typing. The ache is spreading. When I get up I will have trouble walking.
I will not be getting upWhen I get up I will have to
- call my physiatrist,
- bring out the accordion and enjoy playing,
- enjoy writing a blog,
- write an agenda for the meeting that might mean the beginning of am upwardbound career.
I do not deserve to get upWhen I get up I need to edit my brother&quit;s exam paper, because I promised, and because I want him to get a good grade, and because I enjoy it.
When I get up I should go to my neighbors and invite them over for apple pie.
When I get up I should figure out where I can get absinth and ingredients for traditional herb flavored liquer. I should look up some traditional drinking songs and invite some other neighbors to share.