Harnessing the power of rainbow socks

I'm never quite prepared for the full-force of the jolt when my feet hit reality again.

I realize that the responsible thing to do would have been to forgo the romantic getaway weekend, the one that was planned before the Albuquerque flu wrecked havoc on my body and concentration abilities.
But I've done the responsible thing too many times.

Him and I have too frequently as of late been in the same room but not, separated by walls of papers and obligations.
Such is the nature of graduate student romance.
It has come to the point where I stop in the middle of reading a sentence, stricken by the need to tell him that I miss him despite being ostensibly sitting right beside him.

Never underestimate the power of holding hands to ground you in the moment.

So, I did the irresponsible thing, and took a ferry with him, jumped on a hotel bed, scaled seaweed slippery rocks, kissed him with nothing but a museum exhibit as a witness, and even read productively as he dozed beside me and entered in words describing intricate brain regions into powerpoint as a bright sunset shone through the window.

But now my feet are firmly back on the cold, hard ground of reality, and I realize how truly behind this illness has left me. I search for 15 minute gaps in my schedule, which I fill in with tasks. I pack my clipboard full of articles, rank ordered in terms of sheer desperation. I wince when I open my feed reader, silently cursing myself for letting blogging degenerate into another chore, rather than the solace it is supposed to be.

And, as I fish through my sock drawer this morning, cursing myself and my need to do laundry, I deliberately choose my rainbow socks. The ones that my client once busted me wearing.
Because, this way, even if I only get a glimpse at the sunshine as I dash between appointments, at least I can peek below, and see a smattering of colour on my feet.

Sometimes you have to grasp onto colour in any way you can get it.