Hiding in my friend's apartment.

I forgot to mention that the entirety of Friday took place in the rain.

There is nothing minor about this detail. It is no short secret of human existence that our moods and moves are based almost entirely off the weather. Just thinking about this makes me walk over to my vitamins and swallow Vitamin D.

Friday would have been the most absurdly fun day ever. I mean, come on, going to three classes a day, exploring new studios and an mind-blowing slam poetry session with Potus.

Brilliant. Minus the downpour.

Now, I love rain. I love drizzle, and hazy streets and that feeling of total calm and clean air.

Downpour is significantly less appealing. The only proper way to appreciate a downpour is to abandon time, space and productivity and cuddle on a couch, bed or other soft surface and give homage to the hard work of thousands of actors, producers, writers, art directors and other creative folk that make stuff for people to appreciate on such occasions.

And so I did. Hide, in my friend's apartment, the entirety of Saturday. All of it. I woke up at about twelve, and made banana-pecan pancakes, watched an episode of Boston Legal and then looked up yoga studios and made myself a schedule for the rest of the week. Jeremy left. Jeremy went to the gym, Jeremy went to a hockey party. And I hid in his apartment. I left once, to buy gum. I owe them groceries.

On a productive note, however, as I was huddling around Jeremy and Emily's kitchen table, I sent off e-mails to all the studios which I cannot afford to take classes at to find out if they were looking for new teachers. This is very effective, actually, and a good idea. I'm doing more of that now.