This morning, I woke up ten minutes later than usual. Curling deeper into my well of blankets, I relished those extra scant minutes to half-consciously dream of a happy land full of nothing but sun-lit pillow trees and an earth made of mattresses. Then I woke up and looked outside. The sky was a nauseating gray and the parking lot outside my apartment building had that nice, deathly ice-sheen. Fantastic. Thought briefly of calling out sick from work and missed the good ol' days of school where leaves of absences were frequent and guilt-free. Puttered around and checked the weather, but it wasn't as horrible as I wanted it to be. Raining and cold enough to be a big fat thorn in my side, but not life-threatening enough to be a legitimate excuse for coming in late. Miss when snow days meant something. Miss when you woke up to a world full of icicles and frosted trees and felt like you were stuck in a snowglobe; it was nothing but soap flakes and wonder which you watched from the comfort and warmth of your own home.

Ha. Then I found out snow days as an adult meant late mornings spent trying to desperately scrape the ice off your windshield with your fingernails while the asshole next to you smugly employed his ice scraper.

Anyway. Rest of morning. I was late for work because I spent most of my morning fantasizing about ways to avoid work. I also lollygagged by contemplating making breakfasts I did not eat (although I made a BOMB breakfast burrito yesterday that I find it imperative to mention -- cheese omelet on a fresh corn tortilla -- it's fresh corn tortillas or bust, baby) and complaining to my cousin, who announced as she stared at gossip blogs at 7:30 in the morning that she had 22 vacation days and she intended to use them. Jelus. Told her to go to hell and went to work.

Okay. So the roads weren't that bad.