Morning Has Broken

We have a house guest, LouLou, is staying for a couple of nights. But all the bedrooms are taken at the moment. LouLou doesn't mind sleeping on the couch, so everything is settled, yay.

But sleeping on the couch. Grimace. I get up early, 5.30am. I don't know why so early, but I do. 

The coffee machine is really noisy, suddenly, in the dark. LouLou says that even if it wakes her, she just rolls over and goes back to sleep any way. "Make your coffee, don't worry."

And I don't mind sitting in the study, not at all. That is even good for writing. I have been re-writing old short stories, from my fiction blog, developing them and making them better, rather than stare mindlessly at YouTube which I have so often done lately.

I read back over my blog. I also have it all saved in Word documents. I read something I don't like, I open the word document, and change it. Then when I read back over it again, I can easily just get lost in it and re-write the whole thing. Completing stories, or furthering ideas.

I often do that, especially for the last few months, I have re-written my fiction blog year by year.

But pretty soon, I want more coffee, and that seems just mean, whirring the coffee machine again, really, to do that, so I don't make a second coffee, and I go without a second cup.

It is always hard having friends to stay.

I step outside for, um... er... fresh air, and a big dog barks. Jesus, I think. The guys next door are having a party tonight, they have already warned us about the potential noise. It sounds like one of the guests has bought their dog. Good for them. To a party. Thumbs up. It sounds like a big dog too.

We have a low fence at the back, that can easily be jumped by an athletic dog, it has been proven more than once. And I wouldn't even mind that, as long as it came up bum wigglingly friendly. Just getting them to jump back, is often the problem. I've delivered a number of dogs back to their house by the front doors, in the past, from one of the four houses with relatively open back yards. It's just that we're the one on the end, which isn't open to the world, so here is where their journeys end, no matter from which house they started, if you follow what I am saying. But, you know, as long as it got on fine with Bruno, and/or Buddy before him, which they always have, even with two bulldogs, it could stay as long as it liked. I don't care. Let them come look for their dog.

That's happened too.

The doorbell rings. Up until recently, two bulldogs, and often their dog following, more nervously than the two inmates. Open the door, holding the two bulldogs and whatever sundry dog we'd gain, back behind it, usually someone in their twenties. "Um, er, yes hello."

"Yes, hello."

"You, um, wouldn't..."

"Yes, probably..." The sound of snuffling behind the door easily heard by everyone.

"I'm sorry?"

"I'm sorry, I interrupted you," I'll say. "You were asking?"

"My dog?"

"Yes, we, probably, have it."

At which point, I'd open the door behind me, and two bulldogs would rush him, more often than not, followed by his dog.

"Yes, he's my dog."

"I thought that might be the case."

"Thank you." He pats and kisses his dog, and he looks adorable. "Thanks again."

"No problem." That's happened too.

I have a blocked nose, I sound like I am whistling away in the dark. I've got the big screen, as well as my laptop screen, working, so the room is filled with light, it looks like a command centre.

7am. And it is still dark.

Some extra hardware whirs into action, 7am is when it is suppose to start up, and it does. Yay, for technology.

The wall paper on my laptop isn't syncing up with the wallpaper on my big, curved screen, behind my laptop screen, boo for technology. I know I could probably fix it, they both aren't set to the same folder, or something, but it is also a smorgasbord of images I have saved to my desktop - Buddhist monks, Hollywood stars smoking, famous paintings, famous painters, Mustangs, vintage and modern, gay love, vintage American B&W images from the 20th century, Andy Warhol, Marilyn Monroe, Sam Shepard, and the 21st. I love the 30s, 40s, 50s, 60s, & 70s particularly, Bette Davis, Elizabeth Taylor, Jane Fonda, but from whatever era, as long as they are good - like a constantly changing art gallery, I kind of like it.

Now I need a glass of water.

Suddenly it is lighter outside than it is in side, always a magical time of the day, when everything is new and alive.