I woke up this morning in a foul mood, not sick, but not wanting to do anything. The last few weeks have been frenetically busy, and this week is not so much a lull as a pause before the mayhem continues next week.
“Do you have any meetings today,” my wife asked me.
“Why don’t you ride your bike to work?”
When the weather is nice, and I’m working in the office on Sundays, I like to bike to work, but not usually on a weekday. But today was a gorgeously clear day, a little cool for late May: why not?
I left the house a little late, and missed the peak of the rush hour. The traffic was there, but nothing too terrible. In my previous trips I tried a number of schemes to avoid Houston Street, a horribly busy place with lots of trucks. But the schemes usually involve an awkward left turn, which didn’t work in the heavier weekday traffic. It turned out the Houston Street wasn’t so bad after all.
And, just like that, the funk was busted. The endorphins were flowing, and all was well. I had expected a calm day, but it didn’t happen that way. Not to worry: the problems of the day were just targets to get blasted, nothing to get upset over.
So many thanks for the suggestion, Ducky.