Peace

I’m drained. Happy and in a good mood, but wiped out. Work is stupid-crazy again and my creativity has taken a leave of absence. Yesterday I read this blog, then this one. I found them in this list. I feel like shedding my skin and replacing it with a soft, fleecy bathrobe and sleeping for 73 hours. I go home for lunch. (A wise move, since I am greeted upon my return with an enormous pile of work and a project manager hovering over my chair who screeches, “There you are! I’ve been stalking you!”)

As soon as I step inside our house, I am calmer. In control of something, even if it’s only what I eat for lunch. As I sit at the kitchen table, I debate freelancing.

I call Jason to tell him about a mallard and his lady friend who are sitting primly in our backyard. I take a quick picture of them and they fly away noisily. I hope they return. Our flowers are starting to bloom and I take pictures of them too, even though the peony buds aren’t open and the 90% dead rosebush is now only 80% dead. I find another seashell; a seashell I know wasn’t there a few days earlier because I trimmed down the bushes until they resembled Charlie Brownesque fluffs of green.

After lunch, I’m cold. I slip under the bedcovers and sit Indian-style. Abby immediately hops up and presses her back against my kneecap, a move I can’t decide is friendly or openly hostile because I’m in her space. I feel myself drifting off and sit up straighter. Sunny investigates under the covers, her tail waving around like a curious cobra. My stomach makes whale noises under the blue sea of the comforter. Sunny finally settles in next to me, completely covered by the sheets, where I can feel her breath on my hand, her warmth reassuring and relaxing.

I realize I can’t control what happens at work. But I can control this. It’s time to go. I linger, and then lean down to pet Sunny’s sleeping head. “Thank you,” I whisper.

She is purring.