Thursday Blursday

When I woke up this morning--or, more accurately, when the alarm let me know that I could no longer just lie there and toss and turn and ignore the furbags on either side of me begging for their kibble while my mind raced and raced over territory best left untouched--I seriously contemplated calling in sick to work.

It wasn't that I felt ill. Far from it--since that bout of flu last month, my health has been just fine, even as the second wave of flu has caught people all around me, including some swept up in the last wave. (Of course, by saying "I feel fine," I've doomed myself; best stock up on Theraflu now.) It was more of a "It's gray and cold and supposed to snow and I really don't fucking well want to deal with it" thing.

Unfortunately, as is all too often the case, common sense prevailed (damn me for being a Taurus) and I got up, fed the Girlish Girls (which I would have done anyway, even if I'd decided to be "sick"), shaved and showered, dressed and primped.

Outside, the sky was gray. The air was cold. This was not exactly stoking my motivation. On my way to the train station, I ran across the remnants of the "Spring has sprung" chalk drawing I'd seen on the sidewalk the week before. It was badly faded now and barely legible. It looked how I felt.

Once at work, the mood remained. The sky was still gray, now aided by what looked like snow, but felt more like slush being dumped from the rooftops of downtown skyscrapers. The chill persisted. The news wasn't any warmer. Actor Richard Widmark had died at age 93. (I hate to say it, but he was one of those celebrities who, when his birthday rolled around, always made me say, "You mean he's still alive?") So had local radio legend Wally Phillips. So had the guy who created the Egg McMuffin. One of my best friends from high school sent word via email that her beloved kitty had passed away from kidney disease--not the first friend to deal with such a loss recently.

So the color of the sky and the bite in the air were fitting, I suppose, for a day close to the upcoming weekend, but not close enough and so full of sadness. Now it's mid-afternoon, the workday isn't moving as fast as it should (or as fast as I want it to), and I'm starting to feel oogy--headache, chills, creaky joints.

Uh oh. Maybe I talked myself into being sick after all.