I wake up with my hands wrapped around his stomach like a seatbelt. I can hear Gigi fidgeting in her crate when I open my eyes to not the kind of darkness that tells you it’s okay to keep sleeping, but the kind of darkness that hints at a sunrise pending.
Nothing’s particularly different or notable about this morning. Except maybe that it’s chilly and in Florida we will take all the chilly days we can get.
I let Gigi out and try my best not to be too loud as we go downstairs. The routine is simple, really. I unload my dishwasher drowsily, Gigi lays on the floor and watches me like the most depressed specimen on the planet. Chin down, eyes dolefully up and slowly blinking. I set up my espresso over ice and dish out her food into the most delicate bowl.
“Are you going to go potty first?” I ask her gently. Because historically, Gigi really makes me wait for her to go potty. I once clocked a morning pee at taking her ten minutes.
We go downstairs and are greeted by cold air and trees outlined by soft oranges against a dark pale blue sky that’s gradually brightening. It doesn’t take her long and we’re back inside and she’s spinning and spinning and spinning. I set her bowl down and make her sit for me, then I say “Buon Appetito” like a waiter serving her in a tourist restaurant along the Piazza Navona.
I get cozy on my couch. Blanket over my legs, laptop out. What will I write today, I wonder. It’s in that moment that I realize how much being a writer is love for me. Even if it’s not the best writing, it’s my take on the one take we get.
Gigi finishes in record speed and is already on my lap. Head resting on the tip of my laptop where my hand needs to be. I push it off my lap and grab her and make her face me and I tell her “Good morning, my beautiful wonder.” Over and over again as I pet her and her ears go back.
Thoughts?