Just a couple of things today...

This morning, at about seven-thirty or so, I went in the bedroom to give Sonya the first of her wake-up warnings for the morning. Since I've pinned the blanket over the window the bedroom has been wonderfully dark. This makes it good for sleeping but bad for getting up in the morning.

So I open the bedroom door and turn the lamp on. Sonya is buried under the covers, of course, and Roxy was sitting on my pillow. When the light hit her little brown doggy eyes she ducked her head and squinted.

"Oh, gosh, that's awfully bright for first thing in the morning," her posture seemed to say.

I stepped between her and the light and gave her a good rubbin' until she stopped squinting. It was too precious.

Sonya finally staggered out of the bedroom and went by me into the bathroom.

"I'm just gonna wash my hair today," she mumbled, "does that make me less of a person?"

I told her it didn't.

So I get through shaving and step into the bathroom proper to dry my hands.

Sonya was pitched over the edge of the tub, shirt off, head stuck under the faucet at an awkward angle.

"Good lord, Sonya," I gasped, "you look like something out of a crime scene photo."

"How so?" she asked, standing up and towelling her thick hair.

"Shirt off, dropped in the tub, head all crooked..." I listed.

She laughed.

I think the people at the bus stop disapprove of me.

I park in a parking lot that's across the street from where I work. The bus stop is on the parking lot side of the street. The can't get from the parking lot to the doors of my workplace without getting pretty close to the bus stop.

Snippet of bus stop people conversation I overheard this morning:

Every morning, as I leave the parking lot and cross in front of the bus stop people, they stop talking and watch me cross the street, their silent disapproval howling around me.

What are they thinking?

"Cockyass mothafucka...he hadn't gotta take a bus nowhere...think he big shit, havin' a job and all that..."

I asked one of my coworkers about this. She had noticed it, too.

"What's up with them?" she asked, "they look at me really hard."

"Don't ever fall in the street in front of them," I warned, "they'd be on you like vultures on roadkill."

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