Still Chest Deep

It has rained like hell for two days now. Good black skies while I was in my all day meeting. Little bit of thunder. Little bit of lightning. The ground is loose and muddy. I expect Em will have his soccer practice tomorrow evening; but I don’t expect it to be pretty. I expect he’ll go home looking like a mud pie. I have his shorts, shirt, socks, shin guards, and size three soccer ball in a classy plastic Kroger bag. The trick will be remembering to take that bag to the car in the morning.

Still chest deep in a funk. Is past time to climb free. Will knock that out this weekend.

Something I enjoy each night when I finally settle down to bed: Cody (10 year old Flame Point Persian, dumb as a stick, and my best friend in the world) waits 3-5 minutes for me to lie back, situate the pillows and sheet to my preference (two pillows beneath my head and left leg uncovered), jumps on the bed, walks silently up to my face, gives my chin a head bump, turns and walks back level with my hip and curls up to sleep with my left hand resting on his chest or back. It’s the simple routines that often mean the most. His purring is the metronome by which I time my drift. Every night.

Good ol’ Cody.