It's as cold as a witch's teat this morning in Manhattan. Even the hipsters, who usually only wear hats in the warmth of the summertime, are considering putting something on their heads. Many of them have exchanged their flip-flops for wooly mammoth-like footwear. The second ice-age is coming. Global warming be damned.
It's warm in the office, and bright. The whoooooooooooooooosh of white noise and HVAC is about all there is to hear. There's only me here now. And one other similarly-inclined writer I know from the old days.
I knew when I was away on vacation that the first couple of weeks of 2015 were going to be hairy. I feared I had too much to do and not enough me to go around. But though we're only a week in, I seem to be managing, and managing well.
When I was a kid, when Con Ed had to come in and dig up a street, they'd put signs and sawhorses around that read "Dig We Must."
That's become my mantra.
That's life as a freelancer.
Dig. Then dig some more.
Not much to say this morning. Maybe my blood's running a little thick. Besides I have to get down to business.
That's all for now.