TITLE: Idle Chattering Teeth
DATE: 12/07/2004 03:55:00 PM
This is breaking a cardinal rule of blogging--do not blog about anything related to work whatsoever, in any way, shape or form, but I simply cannot help it. My rationalization is that if they make working conditions unbearable, I reserve the right to ridicule them in a public forum.
Yesterday was December sixth. Today is the seventh, a date which will live in infamy, and consequently is relatively difficult to forget. On dates such as December sixth and seventh, in the state of Massachusetts, it tends to be really rather cold.
According to a source which shall remain nameless, filters in the heating system caught fire last week when the heat was first turned on. Why? Because they haven't been cleaned or replaced in what amounts to a truly reprehensible amount of time. And so the heat was turned back off again. And it remained off until this afternoon, which is when someone finally got around to fixing it.
Because, eh. We can do without heat for a little while in December, in Massachusetts, right?
That makes two full days I've sat in this office with my coat on, typing doggedly with numb fingers, directly below a heating vent that was blasting me helpfully with cold air. The further I huddled into my coat, the harder it blew that Arctic gale in my general direction.
The corner office remained nice and toasty the entire time.
Perhaps this effect was enhanced by the lasers I was shooting towards it from deep inside my eye sockets.
But this has also brought to my attention with painful relentlessness the fact that something fundamental appears to have happened to my body on a chemical level, a phenomenon which I have already whined about on this very blog, in fact, but today is your lucky day, and you get a double scoop.
I cannot stay warm anymore. If you know me, you know how strange this is. Since I was a newborn infant (with the misfortune to have been born mid-summer), heat has made me feel as if I was about to explode, like I was on fire beneath my skin. Cold, meanwhile, has felt somewhat soothing, or at least bearable. In the past while others grated out at me through clenched teeth, "Ar-r-r-ren't y-y-ou c-c-old?" I'd simply shrug in return. My mother has always said that if I complain of the cold, 99% of the time it means I'm sick. For most of my life, cold has rarely even occurred to me, and even then, only if in the extreme. And when a chill wind has made me shiver, it always seems to have been something I could handle better mentally than many people I know. My skin may have gone raw, my nose may have temporarily disappeared from my face that I was aware of, but I spent very little time huddling. Or cowering from the cold. Or whining.
Generally, people who bitch and / or make conversation about the weather are people I have no time for. If you haven't got anything better to talk to me about than the effect of the ambient air upon your physiology, then you need to find someone else to talk to.
And yet here I am, December 7, 2004, fucking cold as hell and pissed as fuck and not. shutting. up. about it.
Lately I have taken to wearing socks to bed. Socks. I hate socks. I hate wearing socks while awake and also wearing shoes. Let alone while asleep in bed.
And yet inside these newly-worn socks are the blocks of ice that have suddenly replaced my feet. Despite the socks, and blankets, they do not ever actually get warm. I eventually manage to ignore them and fall asleep, but I wake up with my feet just as frozen as when I finally dozed off.
Same with my hands. The pinkies, especially, appear to no longer be receiving blood supply. My fingers are suddenly icicles.
And cold does more than just give me goosebumps or pinken my skin, anymore. Cold has begun to get to me. Bone-deep cold, when it's not even that chilly outside (or inside, as the case may be). Cold has begun to make me huddle, and shiver. And whine.
It's all very puzzling. Is this part of the aging process? This early? What's next, I start getting all pissy when it's rainy or overcast, and bitching about that too? Fuckin' A, I hate those people.
Who am I anymore?
Or maybe I have some dread disease. Quick rifle through my armchair physician's interior Rolodex...poor circulation to the feet: diabetes mellitus. Poor circulation to the extremities: any number of unpleasant things...chills: fever. What does it mean?
Well, I guess I'll have to just do what I do best, which is visit Ask Jeeves or Web MD, scare the crap out of myself and flip out for no good reason.
I need a hobby, or something.