The morning of Christmas Eve. The sun is making an appearance, sending golden light under the edges of the grey lid of cloud, lighting the upper edges of the apartments closer to the lake. A dry lull in the cycle of recent storms.
Woke up to a downpour yesterday, and when I turned on my phone, found a text from a friend saying she'd be late picking me up. I'd thought she was out of town, so it was a welcome message. Also, I'd woken up late. We made it for the last part of the rehearsal, I got relegated to alto, hopefully, not an on-going thing: I can't sing that low on a regular basis. Spent the afternoon running errands; last minute Christmas gifts, and looking for anything to shorten the length of this (now day 6) annual virus I've managed to catch. Last night definitely the worst, horrific headache, and I kept waking myself up gasping for breath, and drenched in sweat. I think it's just a bad cold.
I'd planned on making biscotti, but now have to wait until I'm better. And using up leftovers to make hash (before going up to visit my family), but have so far only managed to make, and drink, a cup of tea, and brush my teeth. I need to go pick up a car in an hour. And do laundry. And run a couple more errands, before an early rehearsal and service for Christmas Eve. I just want to sleep.
The traffic is steady and loud, like a distant river, or wind through a wood. I can hear one chirp of a bird a couple houses over, bright enough to break through the drone of tires on road. The house is silent. The street is silent. I might feel better if I do something.
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