This is how the morning began.
I woke but couldn't imagine why until the third alarm. I shut if off but lay in bed for warmth. One cat jumped on me. I pushed her away but heard the other cat puke downstairs. I remembered then that I had to shower. Time to get up. I was so tired.
In the shower I thought about the midterms, how Democrats lost Senate seats and our repugnant held his House seat. There won't be any real check on the monster in the Oval Office. We lost. Again. What is wrong with this country? I wondered.
I went downstairs, crossed the dark living room to get my bag, and stepped in cat puke. Hopping on one foot into the kitchen for paper towel I found the roll empty and by then had slicked the inside of my pajama leg. I sighed, found paper towel, cleaned myself and the floor thinking I should call in sick (I've got a cold), and go back to bed, but I needed to write morning pages. Out loud, I asked, where have I put my pen.
Understand that I write with only two fountain pens, one from 2008, the other from 2011. Aside from my wedding band, they are my most prized possessions. I always have them. But the 2011 pen filled with blue ink wasn't in my bag or my fleece, wasn't on the table or desk, and wasn't anywhere I could find it. I was already a few minutes behind because of the shower and the cat puke. I didn't have time to search but went outside barefoot in cat-puke pajamas and a white undershirt to search my car. It wasn't there. Back inside and running late, I grabbed my other pen and wrote a version of this. The next paragraph read: **
Maybe the pen is in some dark crevice of my car. Maybe it's in the house somewhere I don't expect. But there's the chance it's in the parking lot near the Carrier Dome or on the shoulder of Route 81 South. I just don't know. The combination of not knowing and feeling as though I am a fool for losing it is eating me up.
I was tired from staying up late watching bad results from the election. Having been sidetracked by bathing, cat puke, and a lost pen, I was running late for a job I didn't want to go to anyway but at which I'm stuck for the time being. In this state, a lost pen, one I've held onto for seven years is enough to ruin my whole damn morning.
It was a chance to practice letting go and accepting. I need more practice at those things, let me tell you. I finished my pages and went back to the kitchen for breakfast and to make the coffee, morning pretty much shot and hope fairly run out.
But wait, there's more to this story coming soon.