Kee-rist it is cold!
I'm writing this from my hotel in Sticksville, and I just got back from dinner. Two other guys are joining me here for the project this week: Dave, also from my office; and Bill, from Faraway City. When I texted you that I had arrived, Bill was on the road and arrived less than an hour after I did. Dave was stuck on the runway back home and expected to get in after midnight. The hotel staff looked at me warily when I walked in, and asked if I had a reservation. When I said Yes and gave my name, they were thrilled. Gosh, it’s nice to be so appreciated. No, it wasn’t that ... only that they’d had so many people come in who were stranded here because almost every road out of or through Sticksville is closed, and so they are completely full. The interstate, which I came down, was “not recommended for travel’ much of the way, because snow kept blowing off the adjacent fields across the road, making it hard to see the road or other cars. Fortunately there was nobody on the road except me and the car in front of me, so I watched him when I couldn’t see the road. If he was directly in front, the road was going straight. (Sure am glad he didn't drive into a ditch or a drift, because I would have followed him. Overall the drive was as exciting as this one here. Maybe there's a message for me in all of this, but I can't tell what it is.)
Anyway, at 6:00 Bill and I went to Applebee’s for dinner: this meant walking, since neither of us was sure we could move our cars, but Applebee’s is literally kitty-corner from the hotel. (OK, strictly speaking the hotel is a couple of driveways down from the corner.) So we walked. And somewhere on the way — I think it was before we crossed the street — my feet went out from under me and I fell flat on my back (and on the back of my head) with a thud.
Shit, I thought I knew how to walk in winter. But the parking lot is covered with snow that has been pressed flat and hard by countless cars, and that is therefore as slippery as the smoothest ice. Ow, that hurt.
Bill warned me to be careful (gee, thanks) and we progressed slowly to Applebee’s. Once we were seated, Bill started to talk about what was going on with him at work. When it came my turn in the conversation, I realized with concern that I actually couldn’t remember what I was doing in Sticksville. Why am I even here? To be clear, it wasn’t some kind of TV-style amnesia where I genuinely didn’t know what I was doing here. I knew perfectly well who I was, and who Bill was, and that we were in Applebee's for dinner, and where the hotel was, and what city we were in, and that we both work for the same company and that I was here on work. It felt more like I was just distracted (maybe by falling on my ass) and therefore couldn’t quite put my finger on what I was supposed to do tomorrow morning. In the same way I couldn’t quite remember what was going on with me back home, to make conversation. So I started down one path and pretty soon the stories started telling themselves (I mean the stories of what’s been going on at work recently). Thank goodness I remember stories as set pieces, because as I listened to my stories tell themselves I started to remember that I have a five-day project here starting tomorrow, and that I have to be at the top of my game. Oh heavens, really? Yes, I guess so.
We had dinner. We came back to the hotel — very slowly and cautiously, I might add. Even so, I felt my feet start to slip a few times, but I kept my balance all the way. (Thanks be to God.) And moving slowly helped me appreciate just how fucking cold it is ... with my father’s Russian hat, with a scarf and gloves, with the Thinsulate-lined jacket I’ve owned for decades. It’s still cold.
Before this I wanted to stay up and study for the project I'm starting tomorrow. It's going to be important. But now I just want a couple more chocolate chip cookies from the front desk, and then bed. I hope to God I don’t hurt worse in the morning.
Why do people live here?
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