Slow progress

Yesterday, 6:30 AM: Snow, hurrah! I have all the bread, milk, and toilet paper I need and can hunker with the best of them!
6:39 AM: But I have a job. To the lightbox and then to the shower.
7:45 AM: Boy, it sure is pretty out here.
8:45 AM: It's even pretty snowing on the alley outside my office window.
12:00 PM: Oh, it's stopped. Please don't let it restart as wintry mix, please don't let it restart as wintry mix, please don't let it restart as wintry mix...
3:45 PM: Dammit.
6:30 PM: Conference call. "Well, I hope you guys get through it okay in Chicago and Cleveland. No, it's not snowing here. It's sleeting. During rush hour. Yeah."
7:30 PM: Brick sidewalks in the sleet. Who the hell thought brick sidewalks were a good idea?
10:30 PM: Well, maybe it'll all magically disappear overnight.
Today, 6:45 AM: DAMMIT. And the feds aren't closed.
6:48 AM: Radio traffic lady says, "Apparently horse manure melts ice, and we know that because a tractor trailer hauling a load of it has jack-knifed on the Beltway."
7:45 AM: I'll just wear my rubber-soled work flats and shuffle...oooh, skidding within five feet of my door, no I won't. Back inside.
7:55 AM: My trusty Vasques, what would I do without you? You look about as sexy as bricks, but a million times better than a busted rear.
8:00 AM: Wow, even with the chemicals and clompy boots it's horrible out here.
8:10 AM: By now I'm usually at the station. Eense-eense, shuffle-shuffle. This balancing act is taking my mind off the post-yoga pain (twenty minutes of sun salutations without a break was the warmup on Monday night, because Big Sexy Gym's teachers are paid to be sadists). All the cars have icicle goatees, and all the parking lots are slick black sheets of liability.
8:15 AM: Train! Heat! We shudder through a grayscale world before diving into the tunnel.
9:00 AM: Finally, the office. Does this mean I have to take off the boots? Noooo!
9:05 AM: It is echoingly quiet. Everybody who has to drive to a Metro station is late.

Tomorrow work sends me to Arizona, where with any luck I will thaw out and narf down some of the local border cuisine. If the gods are smiley, there'll even be a chance for a ride. Warmth, sun, and (possibly) horses: the perfect prescription for forestalling the February blahs.