February is a challenge in Madison in the best of times. When work fills your plate and temps continue to fall, there really isn’t a lot you can do. The day is not yours, it belongs to others.
Outside, the shadows grow longer. And bluer.
I sat in the car this evening, motor running, then not running and I counted minutes (waiting to see how long before the cold would force me back out again?).
Someone asked me – do you often sit still in odd places and count minutes [tip: to count minutes, you have to count seconds]? Yes, I do. When time passes slowly, when I am waitng to move to the next stage (or to cross the street with an odiously long light), I sit still and count minutes.
Isn't it magnificent that at the end of an office day, you don't have to return home? That you can go to Borders and continue where you left off? With a latte.
