At the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts I woke to bird song--which doesn't describe it at all. Think Hallelujah Chorus.
At my brother's place, I always wake listening for the hiss and hum of my mom's nighttime oxygen machine. If the house is silent, I know she's at the table with her first cup of coffee, that first cigarette already smoked.
Here at home I wake to---oh, it pains me to admit it, but I wake to woe. The local flock of crazed parrots does its fly-by and my brain starts to squawk too. Attorney bill, broken dryer, what about the whitefly infestation, can I actually go get my hair cut or will Layla get stuck in the dog door, did I call the termite guy or have I thought about it so much that I only think I called the termite guy, should I get a housemate to help cover my expenses?
Really, Mr. Fortune Cookie writer, I don't think it's possible to concentrate too much on one thing. If it's the right thing.
