Morning Collage
Coffee. Maybe a bite of chocolate? Water. Yes water, but first coffee. Just the thought of it makes my eyes pop wide open. And I am pleased with my new gauzy curtains and the way they are filtering the bright sunlight on the folds and wrinkles of my ivory bedsheets. I sit up and swing my legs beyond the duvet, to find with my feet the soft fluffy cloud that is embodied as a rug on the floor. I stand, I straighten, I align, I breathe deeply, I look up at the ceiling: Thank You Hashem. I mean really Thank you. For this perfect, beautiful, affordable, easy, peaceful and generous spot. Thank You, I fall out of Tree, and then quickly do it on the other side. It’s all about balance.
I quick check my closet on the way out, making sure my suit is back from the cleaners. ‘Fit combos filter through my brain, the light in the salon collects brilliantly in the center of the room, highlighting the yellow aspect of the green velour couch, the flowers in the crystal vase’s bloom is fucking eternal, I mean how else do you explain their long beautiful life without even a petal in wilt? Well maybe that’s not entirely true, but they’re lasting pretty far into the month, considering I got them at the beginning and we’re now at the middle end. I notice the browning edges on a couple of the peonies in a jar on the counter near my coffee bar. I faithfully gulp down a glass of water first, resist a bite of the chocolate cake in the fridge, by purposely ignoring it when I retrieving the coffee/accoutrements. Truthfully, it’s the immaculate French butter in its shiny gold foil package that tempts me, and the loaf of sourdour in the clear breadbox on the counter. Two beautiful english words toast and butter, like you and me. Toast and butter and eggs and coffee. The words combine to concoct images of a delicious breakfast. Coffee. Coffee would be it this morning. I glance out the kitchen window at the neighboring patio which looks like it is paved with distressed tires.
Vintage cup and saucer set in hand, I will take coffee on the velour couch I say this with my best Victorian English accent. But suddenly she plays one of my all-time fave retro club hits. Is my mind morphing with Alexa’s? I love this song too much to not physically react! Mindfully putting my cup-saucer down before I leap up and execute balletic turns across the room, this song convinces me I am an overlooked dance phenom.
After the last Madonna-Lucky Star scissor kick I am in my boudoir. Standing in front of my ornate full length mirror my outfit is giving glam casual, glam-cash. My lightweight trouser jeans, and the white cotton button down is simple and cool. Turn my face to both sides making sure everything’s where it should be, ThankYou Hashem.
There’s an untidy pile of magazines, hardcover books and notebooks on my bedside table, along with Night Repair balm, and a tangle of bracelets and other gleaming crystalline objects. A diminutive neon toned digital clock, rounds out the scene and places me temporally. I sit down on my bed and pick up the food mag devoted to the topic and recipes of BRUNCH at the top of the pile. I flip through it, taking a quick look at the clock.
The next several hours will be alright, good even, moments of fun possibly. I will have to be patient, and I will have to be engaged. And I have to work on the thing, I definitely have to. I’m almost there, but not quite, so I need to work on the thing. I will work on the thing of course I will. And my reward will be this evening and tonight. That will be fun. I go back to my closet to check on my white linen suit, crisply inserted between dry cleaners plastic. Yay! I get to wear this beautiful, chic, immaculate thing- AT LAST. Hope it lives, and serves, a great episode, and purpose. That is my blessing to myself. My affirmation.