As the weather models started unfolding Tuesday morning and it was obvious large portions of the Northeast were going to have a very adventurous afternoon/evening commute home to complement the chaos of Wednesday's trip into work, I asked the people for whom I work if I could telecommute and avoid the dog sled jam on I-395.
I've had a telecommuting agreement for close to half a decade and made extensive use of it when I had my left knee replaced about half a decade ago as preparation for the audition for So You Think You Can Dance (Jungle Rules).
Sadly, because I faint at the sight of blood, especially my own, I wasn't medically cleared to be able to compete in the show. But I do have a shiny titanium knee that sets off metal alarms better than if I had a plate in my head.
Working from home is a nice vacation from the office for me and respite for the people who try to get their own jobs done on the floor of the building I work on. I'm always disappointed at the small number who want to participate in any of the singalongs I try to organize.
No matter how often I shout "you know the words!" it turns out, no they don't, and I'm starting to think Desolation Row isn't the best song for a roundelay or I just know a lot mumbly people.
Anyway, when I stay home, they get smiles on their faces. I know this because they've told me so as if that were some clever trick or something. They laugh at me because they think I'm different while I laugh at them because I know they are all the same. It's amazing that we get anything done for all of our chuckling.
They actually get a twofer since I've medical appointments today and will be gone all day. I visit first with my ophthalmologist early this morning (though not as early as I thought) to chart the progression of the treatment for my Sjögren's and not for my inability to see the world as it really is.
I have a carotid scan this afternoon as part of that Limited Mortality Special they were having at St. Vincent's Hospital when I was born. I'm catching on to the idea that getting old really sucks, though it has taken me a while.
Working from my house, I can get up and walk to the porch, though with the temps the way they are, I'm not out there for very long, and then come back and sit down and do some more truly heroic stuff. In my dreams, of course.
In real life, I tread carefully lest I inadvertently awaken one of those who didn't realize he had gone to sleep. Not career-enhancing I'm told to be That Guy and I'm all about the career and living for approval in someone else's eyes.
Instead of lunch yesterday I took a quick walk around the block of my house-everything looks very different and to me, more magical, when it's snow-covered. Perhaps the ophthalmologist has some drops for that he can share.
While I was out, I realized I was the first person to walk on the snow anywhere on the Chelsea Parade, which is bounded by Broadway and Washington Street and separate my house (and those around it) from the Norwich Free Academy. Strangers do not like other strangers shouting "first!" at them; trust me on that.
I grabbed this picture because I go crazy telling people who've lived here all their lives how beautiful this place is. No matter how loudly I say it, they don't hear it. Perhaps if I appeal to their eyes instead of their ears.
I figure having an example at the ready might help me be more successful than in organizing those work-place singalongs. And I save a fortune in sheet music.