Or is it hail?
Either way, it was hard bits of ice falling from the sky this morning, making quite a forceful patter as I trudged through the snow + ice + the grayish mush that snow and ice turn into once the buses and taxicabs get to it, all so I could get my usual caffeinated chocolate drink. And sit here for a little while before work, to write. That’s what I live my weekdays for, at the moment, these pure hours in the morning before real life starts. Sometimes I type madly, at which some people comment because I use two fingers and my thumbs. Sometimes I stare into space (at times into strangers’ faces without realizing). Sometimes I get out a sentence. Sometimes I swipe some wifi to write a post. Either way, this little bit of time is heaven.
I’m unprepared for the weather. I don’t own snow boots anymore, now that I don’t live upstate. I have rain galoshes, bought in New Hampshire when I spent a month at a writers colony, but the galoshes are thin, and cold. This morning, I see some people like me walking around—gym sneakers on instead of boots, an extra pair of shoes in a plastic bag, holding umbrellas up to the blowing snow like it’s a rainstorm. I never saw people use umbrellas when it snowed until I moved to the city. Now I do it, too. It makes sense, especially when the wind shoots the icy pellets straight at your eyes, trying to blind you. This morning, I used my turquoise umbrella as a deathly shield.
It occurred to me that I forgot to call the company line to see if the office was closed, but I highly doubt it’s closed. We’re not in elementary school. And anyway, if it was a whitewash outside, visibility zero and, but if the post office was still open, I’d venture out because I have another application to mail, this one to a writers conference this summer.
This is a big day, besides. After finishing the first draft of that story yesterday—I surprised myself most especially when it happened—I’ll take a little space from it. That will give me more of a fresh look when I return. I could stray for as long as a week, two. It’s like I’m cheating. But right now I’m thinking of it as keeping my options open. To start a new story before this one has had its polish might keep up some kind of momentum.
So what is the new story? Definitive deciding could take days. But the story I’m thinking of is the one I had in my head last night, while drifting off to sleep—the character is a big liar. Thinking of all her lies made me smile. I could take that as a sign that it wants to be written. I like signs.
Happy Snow Day. Happy Valentine’s Day. Happy Wednesday. …Whichever one sounds best.