Back to it

I know this winter hasn't been as bad as it could have been. Maybe I'm just getting old; between the dark and the cold, I haven't been able to get out of bed early enough to walk to work, and even if I could, who wants to walk two miles with the wind in their face, I ask you?

It's all changing. At work, the time I have to roll down the window blinds so that the glare from the sun doesn't render my computer screen useless has gone from 10 minutes at 4:30pm, to two hours starting at 3 o'clock. The earth, she turns.

It's not warm yet, but I walked to work today nevertheless, and was rewarded with a gang of breaking construction workers punctuating their mumbled incomprehensibilty with "Johnny Sacks, Johnny Sacks" at 70th Street (The Sopranos starts again this Sunday); a near miss with an enormous pile of shit, possibly not of the dog variety, under the scaffolding at the corner of 57th and 9th (note to self: find out why that building has been boarded up for so many years); a brief wonder about the relationship between the burgundy afro'd young black woman and the elderly white woman she was helping down the sidewalk at 42nd Street(they were talking and laughing like they were old friends, but most likely they were employer and employee, though the younger woman probably spends more time with and knows better the older one than any of the relatives who would turn up to the older one's funeral); and a slightly sneaky avoidance of a co-worker at 34th Street, so that I could put off thinking about my job and walk the final two blocks to work alone.