I woke in the night to the unsettling music of an orchestra from hell. First the slow building crescendo of a howling wind section was joined by the  percussion of rain splattering against the windows. The vibrating garage doors provided thumping bass. The flapping vent cover in the kitchen added its own discordant notes.

I couldn’t sleep. I felt like I was in a gothic movie, set on the windswept moors.

I am so tired.

Walking the children to the bus stop in the pitch black this morning, we were bundled up in big coats so only the white circles of our faces peered out from under our hoods. Wrestling our umbrellas, trying to stay one step ahead of the shifting wind direction, we nevertheless got wet.

I have to go to the chiropractor today—which means a 10 minute walk to the bus stop, catching the Metro into the center of Brussels, and then walking another 10 minutes to the doctor’s office. Half an hour later, I get to do the whole thing in reverse.

39 degrees. 30 mph winds. Rain, rain, and more rain.

How can Friday morning feel worse than Monday?

December 16, 2005