A beautiful morning in the Village, sunny and not quite as cold as it has been, but I’m still waiting on the arrival of spring. The trees below are covered with buds, my vendor is back to selling all his tourist paraphernalia, even the pigeons are primped and ready but the weekend weather forecast dropped that magic 70° mark. Still it’s a gorgeous sunny morning as I watch the people rush up and down the street. Gorgeous enough to declare it a work from home day, which means I will accomplish nought but so be it.
I feel like going for a walk but yet I don’t want to move. I feel like eating but I’m afraid to look in the fridge to see what might or might not be in it. Work from home normally means answering email, washing the black stuff, doing some cleaning, and maybe running up to market for food but for now I just feel like sitting here and watching the people pass by.
I was just thinking about writing, how much I seem to be addicted to it. I remember when I finished writing my 700 page ‘paper’ to finish my degree; I swore I would never write that much ever again. But here I am typing away about nothing in particular and doing it without even thinking about it. I just sit with my netbook on my lap and type away just to see what I come up with. It really doesn’t seem like it’s going to be anything profound today.
I do know one thing about all this typing, it’s just hell on my nails. There was a time not so long ago when I was just so proud of them. Long, black, and glimmering; the word immaculate comes to mind. Even sports didn’t seem to hurt them because that’s what gloves are for and I had quite a collection of hockey gloves. All black and all leather. But now my nails look like crap and I think I need to start spending more time on them or maybe just start chewing.
I warned you this wasn’t going to be anything profound. Maybe I should declare it a work from bed day instead.
3 Doors Down - When You're Young
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