What I learn Monday is not to trust my first impressions this week, especially the ones that feel pretty good getting out of bed. They don't last. The heavy feet and slow brain set in and, try as I might to shake them off, they prevail.
Nevertheless, I go play bridge. ("We'll have our usual s**tty game," partner Barbara Sadkin promises on the phone). But we do better than usual, finishing among the winners (52%), despite my generally passive play.
After a nap at home, my first impressions return and I call the office. I'm coming in, at least for a while. Then, when I get there, I'm so mentally listless that I struggle to put words together. I throw in the towel around 9 p.m., beating the big crowd that would exit an hour later from the Sabres hockey game in the arena down the street.
Today, Tuesday, St. Patrick's Day, feels much the same. Just come out for lunch, bridge director (and health proxy) Bill Finkelstein says, after I tell him I have no partner lined up for either the morning or afternoon game. He's serving corned beef. Hard to resist.
No comments:
Post a Comment