Another rainy afternoon

5:50 AM

The sound of my alarm penatrated my dreams of trying to make a Rapunzel cake. These are my worries these days. Worries always make their way into dreams. It used to be forgetting to take the order at a certain table, or forgetting to go to an entire semester of math class. Not anymore.

I am careful not to disturb the sleeping baby next to me as I quickly make the terrible noise stop. No light seeps in through the large, wooden shutters on the windows. Since the time change only darkness greets me in the mornings. I try to think of an excuse to lie back down in bed. My head hangs low, my eyes are closed. But more than desire to sleep a few more precious moments is needed to keep me from my new personal challenge to wake up and read my devotional. 

My body drags itself out of bed. As I reach for my fuzzy robe my forearms scream out in pain. I rememeber the kettleball I just bought. And I remember that I need to exchange it for a lower weight. Who knew that the forearms muscles were so needed?

Coffee. Coffee calls to me. I set the water on to boil. No coffee maker here except for that loud Dolce Gusto. The buzzing and groaning it makes is too much for 6:30 AM. Plus, it might wake up the children. Instead it is the french press that gets daily use. 

The hallway is still dark at 7AM even without the windows shuttered tight. Firecracker is crying in her bed as goes the usual morning routine. Twenty minutes later today though. A blessed change.

I gaze out the window as my baby girl drinks her morning milk, her gaze fixed on my dress. The sky is gray and the ground is damp, but a few minutes pass before I realize that rain is still falling. It is a drizzle. A mist, really, that can be deceiving. But after a few years here in Toulouse I know. Boots, rain jacket, unbrella. And still, with the winds, the chances of getting wet are high. November is here in full force.

Coming back from a quick coffee with a friend my thoughts return to the promised Rapunzel cake and I understand my dream anxiety. It can't be done. I can be done.

It can be done, it will just require some money and time well spent. 

It is ten to three and I look longingly at my bed again. But baby won't have it. She wants to play. So coffee calls again. And perhaps a recipe book. Or a quick look through literary agents. It is just another rainy afternoon.....

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