Jan. 12, 2013

I was in bed at ten p.m., last night, was wide awake at three thirty a.m., this morning, and here I am starting my day where I used to end it. I’m a morning man, these days; love to go to bed early and get up early. There is something pure about this early morning time of day. It is quieter, somehow. Maybe it is because much of the world is asleep. It is a good time to write. And like we are teaching our bird, Dolcinea, to say, “I am a writer.”

I am listening to some new music. The artist is a fellow by the name of Django Reinhardt. He is a jazz guitarist. He is an amazing jazz guitarist. Joan just woke up for a minute, and asked who I was listening to.

“I love this kind of music,” she said, “Especially in the morning.” Then she went back to sleep.

When I came out of the bedroom, this morning, Dylan did not push his way out ahead of me, as he normally does. I figured that he was still asleep, but when Joan popped into my office, for a moment, she said that Dylan had been pushing on the bedroom door and whining. That darn dog loves me so much, loves to be everywhere that I am. If I am in my office, he is in my office curled up next to me on the floor. If I am in the bedroom, he is in the bedroom. If he sees me getting ready to go out, he gets ready to go out.

Dylan can be a pain in the ass. I really think that he is bi-polar. I once found “a good home,” for him but recanted from giving him away at the last minute. I’m glad I kept Dylan. He is my special needs baby. I don’t think that anyone else could give him the kind of love that he needs.

I love my dogs Morisson, and Pretti Penni, also. I am very blessed to have them in my life.