Day 77, Be Brave Project; Downey Dreams & Medical Schemes

Here I am, at my desk again. In this absolutely stunning apartment of mine that I hope I get to keep for a while. . .oh my how I hope it, because it is very, very clear that one becomes accustomed to luxury rather quickly. And the bump back down to reality (living in an apartment that is legal and therefore renting at market rates) would be rather unnerving.

But I could handle it--you don't forget how to do studio living, and you don't need to have quite so many things around all of the time as I do now. It's nice, though.

My morning schedule is this: I sleep until 2 things happen. First my cat, who no longer sleeps on my pillow every night due because there's a nearby warm radiator with a shelf over it where she can observe me without being harassed. I miss the days of Gigi asleep next to me on the satin pillow that she's torn up with her talons. . .but still, in the mornings she hops up on the bed at around 6:00. I clumsily pet her for a moment, and then go back to sleep. At this juncture she either curls up into a small white ball and wraps her black tail around her, or she slowly slowly approaches me and, with great slowness and delicacy, sticks her small cold pink whiskery nose into my ear. Yow! I put my head under the covers and she triumphantly takes over the pillow.

The second thing that happens is that the alarm goes off. No one likes this, and the cat glares at me, before remembering that it's close to feeding time, so then she stands up and blinks forgivingly. I hit snooze. Again. And again. I don't like waking up in the mornings, I don't like alarms, I don't like being interrupted in my dreams of being in Cornwall with Robert Downey Junior and attempting to rehab him all on my own. A positively filthy dream in which his puppy dog eyes play a large and thrilling part. Even in my dreams the rehab doesn't work, and in addition, he sticks me with the check at a diner.

I get out of bed grumpily, but the cat is thrilled and runs towards the narrow wooden stairs-she heads down them quickly but carefully, her little white bottom moving from side to side. Gigi Colette disproves the theory of feline grace: This cat can fall off of a chair. I've seen it. We go to the kitchen, which is delineated from the living room by a high white Chinese screen, and I pull the Purina Indoor Cat food out of the cupboard. Excitement reigns, many cries of Now Now Now from the feline contingent, and I feed her and put the kettle on.

Then I come up here to write this and to drink my tea.

***

This week is a lot of the dealing with the medical catch-up: I have more dentistry today, I go to my new cardiologist tomorrow morning (so not sure if I will have time to write), and I get my first mammogram on Friday. Oh lord, I do hope it all goes well. It will be such a relief if it does.