So I’m sitting here, still at work, and my cute co-worker is listening to Cat Stevens. (How does she know about Cat Stevens.) It’s one of those moments. It’s the sort of moment on a rainy afternoon when someone’s listening to Cat Stevens and you’re pissed off about something but the music is making it seem more melencholy and filled with the weight of memory and history than it really is. It’s beautiful and languid and drawn out and poignent and I wish, more than anything, that I was laying my bed with a glass a wine or a cup of tea (preferably not alone) listening to this beautiful music rathan than sitting here in the office signing form letters and stewing about the angry phone call I just took. Damn. It’s been a long week. And it’s only Wednesday.