It's been pretty nice weather up here this week.
I haven't been enjoying it. Events have been conspiring against me, as they say. (They? Who are they?) On Monday my hayfever was joined by a cold. On Monday night they partied together in my brain, keeping me from sleeping; by Tuesday, I felt so grotty that I had to take the day off sick, which I was not happy about. I needed to go into the office first; I got the bus back home and the sun was glorious as I walked up my road.
But I didn't appreciate it. I drew my curtains, lay on the sofa and slept.
Wednesday I felt better, and the sun was scorching again. I made it into work, did as much as I could. I had the afternoon off, but by the time I left it was raining. There were stormy showers all afternoon as I wrote, first in the new library then Starbucks. In the evening we went to Asda. (What a thrilling life we lead.)
Yesterday was beautiful once more, but I was ensconced in work, unable to enjoy the sunshine. Today I worked well over ten hours, didn't leave work until well after seven. Not what I'd choose for a Friday. I barely beat the cleaners out of the building.
It was nearly eight by the time I got home. I had tea, watched Scrubs with D. Decompressed. By the time I decided that yes, I did want some wine, it was past ten. I drove to the supermarket, Sisters of Mercy on the stereo. Got my wine, left the store.
Breathed in the cold. It felt like forever since I'd been out in fresh air.
I drove towards the pregnant moon, hanging in front of me like a beacon. I left my CD off, opened the windows. Let the night in.
It felt good.