The air was crisp as I came out of the dream; the temp reading on the sound-soother was somewhere around 65 and I'm inclined to believe it. I jammed the window closed, returned to bed, and then, as morning arrived slowly, I slowly emerged from my cocoon.
Waking up early -- at 5:45AM, for example -- on a weekend morning is a dicey proposition. If it's for something concrete -- say, a fishing trip or for a vacation flight or for a hockey practice/game, fine. But if it's a mass de-programming from a hard, stressful, long, frustrating week -- well, waking up that early for no good reason doesn't go very far in alleviating any of those symptoms in the first place.
I decided early on that I wouldn't be doing much this weekend; I was already halfway to being sick -- lots of friends have been fighting colds that have lasted weeks -- so between that, the snow that fell in NYC late Friday night, and the wind chill that reminded me of February of this past year, I had no problem spending time in front of the PC, the TV, and on the phone with my other half.
So -- in essence -- I have very little, if anything, to report. I'm still hovering between sickness and full-on 100% ready-to-go, and where exactly I'm at is a question whose answer changes from hour to hour. At the moment, I'm listening to Jack Johnson's "Brushfire Fairytales" rather than Popa Chubby's "Booty And The Beast," so if you know me and/or know both of those albums, you'll have a pretty good idea where I'm at. If not, know that I'd much rather be in bed rather than contemplating facing a Monday morning.
I think it's officially Winter.