This is a treacherous day. Snow covered Chicago right before the spring, and I can hear the gushes of the wind while sitting here and writing these thoughts. Clouds are censoring the sun beams, making this whole scene particularly gray. If I could chose, I’d most likely go back to bed, but I can’t.
Regardless how the day looks like, we must work with what was given to us. You won’t get any other day like this one, ever again. It’s yours wether you like it or not. You will live it anyway, so you should make the best of it.