Hazy Day

Time, time, time, see whats become of me

Was not a pretty day around here today...downright ugly. Cold, windy, and overcast. Not incredibly surprising for this time of year, but today seemed worse. Not sure why. The sky wasn't just gray, it was a foreboding gray, if that makes sense. If my life was a Hemingway novel (and I cannot think of enough reasons to be happy it's not!), a romance would be ending, someone would be about to die (no rain today, so no death)...something like that.

While I looked around

Before I had to run errands this afternoon, I stopped by the trusty stack o'CDs and pulled out Simon & Garfunkel. It was the kind of day that required listening to "A Hazy Shade of Winter." If I had more coinage in the bank, would've swung by iTunes store and picked up The Bangles' version, too, just to cover my bases. Thankfully, I had some restraint. (something I'm trying out)

For my possibilities

And it fit, perfectly, I should add. Even rolled down the windows so I could feel the cold as I sang along. Really I should've gotten out and walked through the leaves or something, but who has time for that? The bitter cold, the dreary sky, the dreary lyrics...

I was so hard to please

The environment was enough to merit S&G's treatment. But the events of my day required it. This afternoon, I got an email from a close acquaintance. I'd recently told him about some rather devastating events in my life, and his reaction was enough to make me want to apologize. "Wow, sorry my life crumbling around me was so hard for you to read about..."

But look around, leaves are brown
And the sky is a hazy shade of winter

And then I hurt someone I care about. Not physically. But in an attempt to help, my words were misunderstood and stung instead of salved. Actually, seems like the words came out like a mace across the face. More I think about it, that alone would turn a bright sunny August day into something needing Garfunkel's mournful tones.

Hang on to your hopes, my friend
Thats an easy thing to say, but if your hopes should pass away
Simply pretend
That you can build them again
Look around, the grass is high
The fields are ripe, its the springtime of my life

Supposed to rain tomorrow. Am hoping the day reminds me of Douglas Adams, or Paul Levine or even Jim Butcher instead of Hemingway.