Implode

Once again, the world changes....

I discover that an adult human can dry off from a shower with a towel the size of a handkerchief. I do it to prove a point to a small child who insists on using two full sized towels to dry a pint-sized body. My point is ignored.

This, along with the knowlege that I can bathe in a bucketful of water, provided it has been at least slightly warmed by the sun, will, I hope, prove absolutely useless.

I move to brush my teeth, extracting the cat from his new favored position in the sink. His fur is silky sweet along my naked body, and I let him glide down gently, instead of rudely plopping him out the door.

I inhale fragrance of powder, soap, scented oils. Feel the brush against my scalp. Agonize over apparal, ending with the original outfit, down even to hoisery. Gulp down on the technicolor butterflies that threaten to burst out in a multihued belch, nerves about this afternoon's reading.

I am distracting myself from images of a spectacular firey tanker explosion, images of a truck careening, diving from an overpass onto traffic below, images of a fuel filled tank bellowing into brilliant orange blossoms.

Someone's husband is dead.

I can't reach Hawk.