three days spent on the couch

i have called in sick for work. i lay facing the window, with the road just below. but i only see sky and trees and a glimpse of the rising and draining river. at any given moment, up or down today? i like living next to this river.
our flat is silent, mostly, save for the ever playing television i seek out online.  from morning until night i watch television. i need the voice, i can both feel and not feel at once. i watch programs and films, crack house and bake a cake, a sad teacher, polar bears and rich people, and love and death.

wednesday was blue light, the winter sun never quite reaching, but warming nonetheless. yesterday was grey, the fat rain falling, i stay here glued to the brown leather.  this morning is filled with white fog, i can't see the river. i can't see anything for a while. i'm in a white room, in a white city. i imagine everyone is still.
it's lifting now though, where does the fog go. i have drank all the orange juice, and i think i will take a shower now.