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Breathe deep the gathering gloom

I tried that this morning. It wasn't successful. I was about a quarter-mile into my ride to work, already quite late, and just...turned around and came home. No lung power. So tired--even after almost twelve hours of sleep--that I just couldn't go the remaining 3.75 miles.

(And no, St Patrick's Day was not involved. St Paddy's is also my mother's birthday, and we are a family of recovering alcoholics and addicts, so there is never any booze about, or even junk food for that matter, and, in short, it was a pleasant and abstemious little evening.)

It's probably the walkin' noooo-monia, to which I am more susceptible than to most things. A bit lungish, that's me.

So, doff helmet and raincoat, change out of somewhat constraining work attire (though Assets by Sara Blakely are awesome as misogynistic torture garments of the "you are not good enough as you are" kind go), don comfy cardigan and fuzzy slippers, and make a massive pot of tea.

And here I am. I think today would be a good day to start that new novel.

Crossposted from Dreamwidth, where there are comment count unavailable comments. | Comment at Dreamwidth.

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