I love the city in the morning.

There’s something clean about it, fresh.  The feeling of a new day, before the heat and the sweat and the anger and the fatigue sets in.  When everyone has a purpose, an agenda … confident that today will be a productive day.

This morning the air that greeted me as I emerged from Jefferson Station was heavy with humidity — no freshness at all in the breeze — instead, the heady aroma of petrol fumes.  I’ve been so tired recently that it’s hard for me to distinguish the difference in vibes, but this morning the entire city felt tired — tired and frustrated and without any optimism.  Everyone walked quickly, and showed their irritation at those who did not … the pedestrians shuffling aimlessly along, seemingly unaware of the rush of morning commuters.

I walk from the train station to Starbucks — I don’t think I could function without my chai latte.  But I pass the entrance to my office, because the Starbucks between the station and the office is terrible — so I go a little further to one where they consistently know how to make my drink properly.  It felt mellow there — somehow there were not throngs of people waiting anxiously in line for their morning java.  And it felt like a nice respite after the hustle and bustle of the train station and the walk down twelfth street.  They are even beginning to know me there and that is always a comfort.

Now I’m here, in my windowless office, not quite sure how to tackle the daunting to-do list that was ceremoniously ignored yesterday in deference to sleep.

Sometimes I forget I have MS.  Sometimes, life feels so good, and I take care of myself just well enough, that things seem fairly normal.  And then there are weeks … days like today… when I am painfully aware of the restrictions that MS has put in place for me.  And I wonder, foggily, how I’m going to get through the things that need to be done and still have job in the morning.

Just two more days, and then the weekend.  And hopefully, more unrestricted sleep.