Today I had a day off from work. I decided to meditate while my hair dried after my shower. I sort of wondered if I would be able to feel my hair dry.

My back's been bothering me, so I leaned back on my daughter's itsy-bitsy beanbag and closed my eyes. My hair felt heavy around my ears.

My cat, Petunia, wandered in. I tried to ignore her as she stuck her whiskers in my face. I returned to my breath.

She wound around my legs propped against the floor. I waited for her to climb onto my lap, and eventually she did. She shifted around for a good long time, but finally she settled onto my chest, her paws hooked around my folded hands. I felt her head rest on her paws.

I breathed, and she purred. I remembered being in early elementary school. My best friend was a walker and I was a bus-rider. I lived in fear of missing the bus. I remember sitting next to her in the "pod" area of our classroom, watching her slooowwwwly zip up her jacket, letting it bounce its way up its track as I hurriedly slapped my coat and hat on and got into line. I remembered being jealous of her slow speed -- I felt like I was always rushing.

I do still feel like I'm always rushing, hurtling through most of my days. Meditation has brought me that slow-zipper feeling, as I breathe in and out and feel Petunia purring on my chest.

I don't remember my hair drying, but when I stopped after fifteen minutes, it was standing out from my ears, merely damp.