Like water spilled on the nightstand...

... these are the mornings in which I cannot force myself to hit the snooze bar properly. We woke up 10 minutes late, which left me 10 minutes late to the train station, which left me parking in the lot most distant from the platform, which made me walk in the freezing cold temperatures, which left me exposed to the buffeting winds that nearly bowled me over, which made me wish I hadn't lost my other glove.

Stupid glove.

Actually, they were lovely gloves. Black leather and fleece-lined things, supple and elegant with a coy zipper along the back that, when undone, exposed a bright red swatch of calfskin. They were a gift from my mother-in-law. Now I only have one. Where did my left one go? I hearby order all coat makers to put a glove pocket on the inside of each winter coat, so ladies like me can stash their gloves without risking losing one! I'll just sew one in the lining of my pea-colored pea coat...

(Insert utterly cliche segue here)... So, I hop on the train and head into downtown, but instead of listening to the moody folk rock that has become a staple on my iPod, I switched to some drum-and-bass (if you are unfamiliar with drum-and-bass, please try Aphrodite, Dj Dara or Vektor). Niiiiiiiiiice. Very much an urban vibe, especially "Smoke" by Dj Dara. It's like the background music I always wanted to the story of my morning. Like, if I had a camera following me on my morning commute, with the crowded train and me leaning against the car, standing in the stairwell while gazing out the car's window at the skyline and grey atmosphere of a cold Dallas morning, and the camera takes a wide angle shot of me, with the rest of the car out of focus in the background but my reflection visible as I stare out the window.

And now, here I am, steadily editing my way into oblivion. Finger still hurts. Still haven't posted about Sunday. Too much coffee and too much to do. Too much to be to too many people. Thank God for Yoga.