It's almost time to rage against the dying of the light
I woke up this morning to find a cup of water puddled in the bag surrounding our newspaper. It's the kind of miserable gray outside that, combined with the shortening days, serves to remind me of the joy I have to look forward to for the next five months, and then, after a week of sunshine, the three months after. At the office, the spray of drops on the windows makes it look like I'm in a fishtank.
Yes, I am feeling melancholy today. I think work is wearing me down this week. I may be making it out of the tunnel (the one I saw "the light at the end of"), but I'm doing it on my knees instead of with a marching band.