Tonight, I was planning on moving the car and vacuuming and sweeping the house before settling down to read the hundred pages or so that are due for my Black America course tomorrow. But now that I’ve been productive all day, I am reminded that being productive makes me tired. Maybe I’ll leave the vacuuming and sweeping for Friday.

This happened to me yesterday, while I was knitting on the girls’ balcony for a couple of hours. The sun was stronger than I thought, even indirectly and it was the first time my fishbelly white legs had been exposed to the sun for any length of time. As you can tell (I think), the sun was on my left and I was stretched out on a bench – my left leg is also burned on the left side, but I showed you the pale part for comparison. True story, I didn’t even realize I was this burned until several hours later because immediately after I came in from the balcony we saw Mary Stuart on Broadway and in the pitch black of a theater, my legs just felt a little itchy and I was blaming that on the seat upholstery. It was only when we got out of the theater that I was like, “Oh. OUCH.”

Flash forward to today in the office when I am wearing business shorts (the very thought of fabric touching this burn made me want to scream, so I didn’t even attempt it). We have three part-timers in their 20s in my office. All three are black, and one’s family is from Jamaica. I tell you this because I became an object lesson for them this afternoon when they came in.

“Oh my god! I didn’t know skin could get like that!” Well, yes, I’m pale. I burn (new concept for them, I don’t think any of the three of them has ever had a sunburn).

“That’s going to peel, isn’t it? And then you’ll be brown?” Yeah, it’s going to peel like a mo-fo, but after that I will be just as pale as I usually am.

“You don’t get tan? I didn’t know white people could burn like that and not get brown from it!” (calling other young part-timer over) “Dude, come look at Julie’s legs!!” That’s because you have never seen Irish/German people in the summer. We are unique.

I’m looking at this as a culture exchange. They have taught me about weaves, braids, and hair moisturizers, so I feel like it’s only fair that I can teach them about pale-skinned freaks like myself.

Wait, what?

Apparently, I had been talking in my sleep and said “Hey!” pretty loudly. This woke Rick up, and in the darkness, he misinterpreted and thought the dark shape on the pillow was the cat, sitting on my head. Because my head, it is cat-shaped. And because Rick doesn’t like for Freddie to be on the bed, he flicked. This is generally a surefire way to get the cat off the bed. Except when he’s not actually flicking the cat, he’s flicking my head. That’s just a surefire way to make both of us miserable for the next few minutes.

Tonight when he gets home, I will draw visual aids to make sure this never happens again.

When we eventually move to the new building, the one we all hate already because we will be crammed for space since no one thought ahead and took proper measurements? I can only hope that there is heat. That’s the only chance the new building has of competing with our current building, but regulated temperatures could go a long way towards closing the gap.

Good thing I had lots of paperwork to do yesterday, because otherwise it would have been a dead loss.

I dressed for my battle with the elements. Merrells, which are waterproof and insulated. Lands End parka with hood. Handknit hat. Cashmere scarf my brother got me last Christmas. Furry gloves that I got at a flea market last fall which are as warm as can be. I was ready. The train came quickly, after only a few minutes of waiting. (My train, it is tricksy. Because it goes above ground two stops after my house, you can never be sure if it’s running or not.) I got off the train at the stop where I transfer to the bus that takes me to Some College, turned on my iPod to listen to the latest Knitters Uncensored podcast, and waited.

At first, it was fun. My gear was keeping me warm and dry, and it was funny that the snow was piling up on me and my backpack, covering my Captain Jack Sparrow and Obama ’08 buttons. After a while, though, I was starting to get a little cold. I suppose I could have walked, but the thought of trudging miles through unshoveled sidewalks with four inches of snow on them? Not appealing. So I waited, squinting through the snow shower down the street in hopes of catching sight of the bus. Nothing. My toes in their insulated boots were starting to go numb, turning into little ice cubes that were hard to walk on. I am from Pennsylvania, people. I went to college where Lake Effect snow was just an accepted fact for seven months of the year. I am not a wus, but my feet were really freaking cold. Still no bus. I looked at my iPod and realized that I had been waiting at the bus stop for a solid hour and nothing was coming. I did what anyone would do. I called work.

I asked my boss how many people had showed up. Three, out of fifteen of us. The only people who had managed to make it to work either lived nearby or could take a train for the entire trip. I explained how I had been waiting for the bus for an hour, and how at this point walking wasn’t really an option because my feet were frozen. She told me to get back on the train and go home, and check my email because a professor was upset over something. I was okay with this decision, and after looking down the street for a couple more minutes, I got back on the train. And came home. And put my dripping parka and gloves on the radiator to dry.

I have to go back out in three hours for a meeting in Manhattan, but since that trip will not involve any busses, I think I’m fine. And afterwards, I’m getting a beer with Lori. Because if ever there was an earned Miller Time, it’s today.

If this isn’t an ideal working relationship, I’m not sure what is.

And so tonight I will go home, weave in ends, wash it (it bled red all over my hands while I was knitting it, not a good sign), and block it. And tomorrow send it and the necklace I made for her. And then…then? I will only have to finish the socks I started for Lori for Christmas and I can knit for me. True vacation!

(While I was typing this, I realized that vacation is good for another reason. If I weren’t getting away? Someone in my office might die. I am that fed up with them. Happy vacation to ME!)

I’ve scheduled at appointment with a massage therapist for after work tomorrow night in the hopes that they can work some of this out. The trip to Florida next week should also help. Because if I’m not allowed to kill some of the people I work with (and I’m pretty sure that’s in the campus handbook, the no killing co-workers rule), then at least I can escape them for a week. And it will be good. Until I have to come back.

Tonight will be all about Wii (the Tiger Woods game I bought for Rick yesterday seems compelled to taunt me when I suck at golf, and that makes me want to prove it wrong), knitting, and movie watching. I’ve got Guess Who’s Coming To Dinner (that would be the original Sidney Poitier version, not that lame ass ghetto version from a couple of years ago) on TiVo, and I feel the need to work on my sister-in-law’s birthday shawlette while watching it. When work turns all 1984 on you, you take your solace and relaxation where you can find it.

Hey, anyone who has a Wii – if you can tell me how the stupid Mii parade feature works? That would be great. No Miis ever parade through my Wii, and that makes me feel sad and unloved. I am so into the tech I might as well be a Borg, you know.