Three nights in your own house - something of a luxury?
I go back to DC on Monday for the last forseeable time, though the project has two weeks left, not one. Wednesday I leave for Las Vegas for a company-wide broadcast industry summit (through Friday) with a global broadcast industry summit to follow on Monday. I leave for DC again on Wednesday to finish the project, which ends Friday the 22nd.
Here's where things get weird. Provided the agreement gets signed and I can get all the visa paperwork straightened out, I'd leave for London the night of Saturday the 23rd.
I wouldn't return until June 10.
More details to come, once I know for sure where I'll be and what I'll be doing, but know that if I do end up in the UK for nearly two months I will find something unique and interesting to do everyday, snap a photo or two, and post at least once daily. I'll need a good hobby, and exhibitionist tourist seems as good as any.
It happens every year.
You go to bed Saturday with a light sense of forboding, knowing that an hour of your life is about to disappear for the next 6 months or so, not to return until it's dark and cold. Imagine: an entire hour of sun, warmth, breeze, and green stolen, just as these qualities re-emerge, and in return, an hour of falling leaves, cold winds, and that late fall soaking rain that causes fevers on contact.
You awake to this realization, though slowly: your eyes focus first on a watch or an alarm clock, and you're pleasantly surprised that you still have some sleep left to the morning. Just as you're about to roll over for another round of getting chased or floating or falling, conscious thought breaks through for a moment. "Hey. That clock's not right. No, really. Roll over, pick up the arm that you can't quite feel since you fell asleep with it over your head, and use it to sit up." Finally, you squint so that the clock on the cable box comes into focus.
Magically during the night the demons at the evil conglomerate that pipes your approved entertainment into your house crept in through that copper wire and flipped your clock on you. It's later than you think. You've missed brunch, all the good cartoons, and half of the bobblehead shows. Welcome to Daylight Savings Time, and prepare to spend the rest of the day feeling vaguely disoriented.
The next day, however, you wake to darkness for the first time in weeks. Strangely, though, you feel more rested than usual. For once, on the train you don't fall asleep as soon as you hit the seat; in fact, you make it through most of the front section, folding up the op-ed page when your stop arrives. The rest of the day goes well, with a lightness that is usually not found on any other Monday.
Finally, at last, the payoff. You leave work in sunlight. Not thin twilight, where you're dodging cars with headlamps on as you cross the street, but actual sunlight worthy of shades. A snap decision to temporarily postpone dinner precedes finding a book you haven't yet finished and a short walk to the park to read.
Hang in there kids, for Spring is officially here. DC's forecast has a high of 78 for Wednesday, with NY at 67 and Boston at 65. Plan accordingly.
Here's today's lesson learned the hard way. Pay attention, class, so you don't make the same mistake.
If you have a food allergy and find yourself cutting that food, don't rub your eyes.
I was making dinner last night for Jenny and I, and after clipping and de-stringing snap peas, set about cutting up potatoes to boil. I don't know why my eye began to itch, but it did, so I rubbed it, apparently transferring potato juice to my eye.
Ten minutes later I looked like I had been stung by a bee in my cornea. I could barely open the eyelid, and when I did, couldn't see through the wash of tears. A Zyrtec and some Advil later, I looked like I'd been punched. When I got up this morning it looked like an old fight wound, and by noon or so today it just looked like I was really tired.
And before you go mocking me, yes, I'm allergic to raw potato. Also most raw vegetable and fruit, though cooking them in the least renders them innocuous. Recalling BI101, I think the heat must denature the offending protein. I've only met one person who has this, ever, and she had it worse. She also was allergic to soy in any form, so most prepackaged cookies and cakes were out altogether. I hope I never get to that state.