Somebody Tell the Sky.

Today is a rainy day.

One of those days where every minute spent wearing something other than sweats and fuzzy socks is unbearable and the only thing  I focus can on is finding a blanket and curling up to read or watch one of those sappy, feel good movies that I love so much. It's one of those days when the sads feel sadder and the happys feel happier, when the smallest instance can make me cry and I don't even know if they are tears of sadness or joy, and when I know that I've been in the same place a thousand times before and will be there again a thousand times  before I die.

This is probably the reason why I walked home from classes in a fog, each footstep being motivated by the promise of  a nap. This is also the reason why I've been huddled under my covers, curled into a motionless ball for the last hour and a half. The comfort and solace this has produced has muted the pleas of my stomach to be filled with something other than the granola bar I ate on the way to class this morning. It has blinded my mind to the work that is waiting for me. It has numbed me to everything except for the warmth of my blankets, the soothing dimness of the room, and my desire to sleep. To rest. To think about things I want to think about. To, for just a moment, forget about immigration and subjunctive verbs and vocal technique and the evolution of the English language and all the other things that my professors tell me to think about. To breathe.

Today is a rainy day. I guess the weather just didn't get the memo.