The Songs of Friday

Well, we have reached the end of another work week, with little fanfare and a quiet slipping-into-the-weekend sort of feeling pervading us. It was quiet here in the office, beautifully so. I was productive and content to simply work, free of the incidents and accidents of the politics of work. I wrote and ran reports. I read and responded to email I considered things and drafted things and studied things. I had time, sweet time, so precious a commodity in a world where hurry-hurry-hurry is the rule and the exception to the rule is only hurry twice as fast. All the questions I was asked today were clear, not fraught with subtext, not subtle hunting expeditions, simply questions. There is a beauty to simplicity which is lost in the working world. It is the beauty of music and poetry and subtle passion. It is the dazzling contemplation of the blinding light that is life. It is the subtle whisper of the darkness that is our mortality as we contemplate Fridays and the Songs of Friday.

If I had to define how I am feeling this morning it is - hesitant. I am moving slowly into the morning without any plan so far. I have an abiding sense that I need to do something - that I need to start doing something, but I seem reluctant to leap into the day.

The weather outside appears beautiful - the sky is blue, the sun is shining, and it looks like the temp is going to climb into the low seventies, so it should turn out to be a great day. I've got plenty of things to do - some of them I need to do, some of them I want to do. But, I am just slow getting rolling.

It is not even that leisurely slowness of a nice lazy morning. It is more of a general slowness - most likely a result of allergies taking the edge off everything for the last couple of days. Ah well, on days like this I guess there is really no alternative except to just get up and start moving.