My muscles are tired, lazy and weak. They groan at the thought of pen and paper. As with many things, the thought is worse than the action. Once pen hits paper it seems as easy to keep writing as to stop.
Rain, rain and more rain. You would think that maybe this was the NW instead of the Mw. When rain comes like this the initial desire to stay in bed and listen to the rain on the windowpane lessens. It must. There are things to do! One cannot lie about all day. And humans are so adaptable. Umbrellas, gollashes, water-repelling jackets. At work the half-mast umbrellas will stand by their owners cubicles like hunting trophies. Pink, ptterned or standard black. Some small and collapsable, some tall and sturdy like walking sticks. My umbrella has a cameo pattern. I always feel as if it misrepresents me. I got it for free. It is the nicest umbrella I have ever owned. I could use it in a monsoon.
Until Monday!
