Afternoon light through the window like a bad decision

It’s 5:30 and the sun’s hitting the edge of my desk at just the wrong angle—glinting off the blue pen I never use, making the half-finished diagram of a coronary artery look like it’s bleeding. I’ve been staring at it for ten minutes, waiting for the urge to fix it. It’s not urgent. The client won’t care. But the light… it makes me feel like I should be doing something important. Like maybe I’m supposed to be sad about how clean the new shoes are compared to the ones I’ve worn since last winter. Or maybe I’m just tired of pretending that afternoons aren’t a tax.