When I went to bed last night, it had been snowing all day, but not much had accumulated—maybe 2–3 inches. When I woke up this morning, that number had jumped to somewhere between 9 and 10 inches.
We were notified on Friday that if we couldn’t make it in today, we could either work from home or take a vacation day. I have absolutely no desire to work from home today—I much prefer saving that for my usual Friday. So I sat here for a while debating whether to go in. Technically, I probably could. It didn’t snow so much that getting to work is impossible, but it would definitely make for a difficult commute.
It’s still snowing, and while the roads have been plowed, they can’t keep up. Lanes are hard to see, and according to the local news’s mobile weather van, the interstate is essentially down to one lane. Speeds are hovering around 50 mph or less, well below the usual 65. That translates into a long, slow, and stressful drive.
I also didn’t sleep well last night, which tipped the scales. So I think I’ll take the other option—which is to take a vacation day.
Sometimes the wisest choice is the coziest one. ❄️
While I’m feeling better today, I’m still not 100 percent. I seem to have entered the postdrome phase of my migraine—often called a “migraine hangover.” The symptoms usually include fatigue, difficulty concentrating, head tenderness, and mood changes.
For me, I think of it as a shadow headache. The headache is still there, just not as intense—like it’s hiding in the background. I also tend to get brain fog during this phase, when thoughts and movements feel slower than usual, as if everything is happening a half-step behind.
That being said, I’m going to skip a poetry post this week. I’m just not up to writing one right now. I have class preparations and meetings today, and while I wish I could stay home another day to recover, tomorrow I’m out for my first appointment with my new neurologist at the Headache Clinic. Then it’s right back into things with a class first thing Friday morning.
Sometimes listening to your body means easing up where you can—and this week, poetry will have to wait.
Garfield was right about two things: his absolute hatred of Mondays and his undying love for lasagna. Mondays arrive far too early, demand far too much, and somehow expect us to be cheerful about it. They interrupt perfectly good weekends, drag us back into responsibility, and pretend that coffee alone will fix everything.
Lasagna, on the other hand, asks nothing of us except that we enjoy it. Comfort layered upon comfort. Warm, reliable, and deeply reassuring—everything Monday is not.
So if you’re dragging yourself into this week feeling a little grumpy, a little tired, and wholly unenthusiastic, you’re in excellent company. Even a cartoon cat knew that Mondays are best approached with sarcasm, snacks, and very low expectations.
Garfield was right.
About both things.
This is a stupid video and obviously staged, but it made me laugh and brought a smile to my face. That’s not an easy feat on a Monday morning.
Today is my usual Friday work-from-home day, and thank goodness for that, because our high today is expected to be 16 degrees. 🥶
I have absolutely no plans to leave my apartment. I’m staying curled up on my couch, staying warm, getting done what work I need to do, and then monitoring emails for the rest of the day.
Star Trek: Starfleet Academy premiered yesterday, and as a Star Trek fan, I watched it as soon as I could—meaning right after I got home from work. It was better than I expected, though the jury is still out. I’ll definitely keep watching, and I’m hopeful it will find its footing. It seems to have real potential.
Isabella woke me up way too early this morning and simply would not leave me alone. Eventually, I gave in, got up, fed her, and did something I almost never do when she wakes me before my alarm: I laid down on the couch, pulled a blanket over me, and went back to sleep.
I ended up sleeping a little longer than usual, which helped… a bit. I still don’t really want to be awake, but here we are—I have to go to work today. If I didn’t have two meetings I really don’t want to put off, I’d probably call in. Not just because I’m not feeling great, but because the weather is awful, and that almost guarantees a stressful drive in.
Last night, the news said this snow and wintery mix wouldn’t arrive until this evening. They were very explicit that my part of Vermont would be one of the last to see snow. Apparently, though, once the system crossed the mountains, it decided to ignore the forecast entirely and switched abruptly from rain to snow.
So now it’s dark and snowy, but at least it’s Thursday and tomorrow will be a work from home day. Right now, I’m just trying to convince myself that coffee will be enough to get my day started.
Some mornings the words just don’t show up, and today is one of those. My mind feels completely blank, with nothing exciting—or even mildly interesting—happening to spark a post. I’m sitting here with my coffee, staring at the screen, very aware that this is what writer’s block looks like in real time. So if this feels a little quiet, that’s why. Sometimes showing up with nothing to say is still showing up.
I woke up this morning, opened one eye, and saw Isabella standing next to me, staring—clearly just about to wake me.
I closed my eye again, rolled over, and checked the time.
3:00 a.m.
Then it hit me.
Fuck. It’s Monday. I have to go to work today.
I went back to sleep, absolutely not ready to face the day.
Isabella tried again at 4:00 a.m. I ignored her. By 4:30, she was more persistent, so I constructed a pillow barrier between us and fell back asleep. That worked… briefly.
I woke again and noticed the living room light was on—a sure sign that it was after 5:00 a.m., which in Isabella’s mind means it’s time to escalate the campaign.
I checked the clock.
5:05 a.m.
Ugh.
At that point, I had no choice but to start my day.
I don’t have a whole lot to say this morning—and honestly, that feels very on brand for a Friday.
Thankfully, it is Friday, and I’m working from home today, which already puts the day in a better light. Last night, however, didn’t help much. I stayed up far too late watching the Fiesta Bowl, only to see Ole Miss lose to Miami in the final minutes. Disappointing endings are never great, but they’re especially rude when they cost you sleep.
Of course, Isabella did not care about any of that. She still wanted breakfast at 4 a.m. sharp. She’s fed now, priorities have been addressed, and since I’m working from home, I have the luxury of crawling back into bed for a little while longer.
That’s exactly what I’m about to do. With any luck, I’ll be sound asleep again by the time this posts—dreaming of a better ending, a quieter night, and maybe a nap later that doesn’t involve football at all.
Happy Friday, friends. I hope yours starts a little more smoothly than mine.
I tossed and turned for hours, and when I did manage to fall asleep, it never lasted long—maybe forty-five minutes at a time before I woke again. Then came the familiar routine: staring at the ceiling, shifting positions, waiting another five or ten minutes for sleep to return. It was a long, restless night.
I think part of it is the root canal I have scheduled today. It needs to be done, and it’s already been rescheduled twice—not by me, I’ll add—but knowing it’s coming has clearly been sitting with me more than I realized. There’s a particular kind of dread that doesn’t announce itself loudly; it just hums quietly in the background until night falls and there’s nothing left to distract you.
I’ve put soup in the slow cooker so it’ll be ready when I get home tonight. At least that’s one small thing handled—something warm and soft waiting at the end of the day. And maybe, if I’m lucky, I’ll be able to take a nap this afternoon and let my body catch up a bit.
I hate when things keep me up at night. Sometimes it’s dreams I can’t quite remember, fragments of emotion without a story attached. Other times it’s the simple dread of the coming day. Last night felt like a mixture of both—a blur of unease, half-formed thoughts, and the stubborn refusal of sleep to stay.
Today is my first day back at work after being off for the past two weeks for the holiday break. The museum and campus have been closed since Christmas Eve, and I also took the entire week of Christmas off to go home to Alabama. It’s been a rare stretch of unbroken rest—especially at night. For two weeks, I slept deeply and easily, the kind of sleep that makes you forget how precious it actually is.
Of course, when I really needed a good night’s sleep, it didn’t happen.
I went to bed early last night, partly because I’ve had a severe migraine for three nights in a row. I fell asleep quickly, but around 1 a.m., a strange noise woke me up. Normally, I’d assume it was Isabella on a feline overnight prowl, but she was sound asleep on top of me—and the noise startled her awake too. It sounded like a woodpecker in slow motion, or something cracking through ice. I looked out the window but couldn’t see anything. After a trip to the bathroom, I went back to bed, but the noise continued, and sleep came only in fragments for the rest of the night.
That made it especially hard to get up when Isabella began her determined campaign at 4 a.m. to remind me that breakfast exists. I managed to fend her off until about 5:15, but anyone with a cat knows that once you’re half-awake like that, real sleep is pretty much over. I spent that time suspended in that strange in-between state—neither fully asleep nor fully awake—aware that the day ahead was going to be a bit of a slog.
It’s currently –1 degree outside, which means the car will take some convincing before it’s warm enough to be tolerable. To add to the ambiance, I was notified yesterday that the heat in the museum hasn’t been working properly and it was hovering around 60 degrees. The system is controlled from another building, and while facilities has been notified, even if something has been adjusted, it takes time for a large, cold building to warm up—especially when it’s this cold outside.
Thankfully, I have an illicit little space heater under my desk, so I should at least be able to keep my office reasonably warm. Today will likely be spent catching up on emails, untangling the loose ends that always pile up during time away, and easing myself back into the rhythm of work.
It’s not the most graceful return, but it’s a return nonetheless. Some days are about productivity. Others are about endurance. Today feels firmly in the latter category.
Joe
The Closet Professor 