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Dec. 4th, 2003
Tum ta tum.
Dec. 4th, 2003 10:07 amLong, boring day ahead, broken in the middle by Hellboy.
Maybe I can figure something out to make it more exciting.
Stolen from![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
chadu: Five Geek Social Fallacies. Interesting stuff.
Maybe I can figure something out to make it more exciting.
Stolen from
chadu: Five Geek Social Fallacies. Interesting stuff.
Snow has come to Baltimore.
We first noticed it a little after ten o'clock, when we were cleaning up. Maurice went to take an empty soda bottle out the back door to be recycled and, when he turned the light on, was startled to see the tiny white flakes drifting down. They weren't sticking to anything yet, but nonetheless David reminded me that I needed to give him the telephone number for the day care so that he could call in the morning and make certain that they were open. Alex looked out the window and told me it was Christmas.
David took Alex home and I returned in a separate car to the office. Somewhere along Interstate 95 the flakes began to grow, and to stick. Several patches of grass along the side of the highway were white with accumulated snow. By the time I passed the Baltimore Beltway, the snowflakes had become thick, fat, and heavy, and stuck tenuously to my windshield before the wipers slid them away. Distant landmarks had become nearly invisible in the fog of white flakes. As I drove along Mulberry Street I noticed that they had grown nearly to the size of the last joint of my index finger, in width and breadth if not quite in depth.
On Washington Street I stopped at a red light and watched the snow dance in the glow of a parking lot light. The light was bright and intense, and the snowflakes gleamed white for the brief moment in which they stood directly in front of the bulb, and then faded to dusty light grey as they fell toward Earth. I looked around and saw snow beginning to accumulate on a car parked long enough to cool. By the time I reached my office building and left the comfort of my car, the snow was beginning to stick to the sidewalk.
I had intended to work for six hours this morning, arriving at 11 in the evening and staying until five in the morning. Given the snowfall, though, plus the fact that both the day care and the University have expressed doubt that they will be open in the morning, I will be cutting that schedule short; if, when I wake up, the university has not, in fact, closed, I will work from home. If they have, then I will likely still work from home, but I will be secure in the knowledge that I have accumulated more hours than I otherwise would have and that I have been able to sleep thoroughly and to watch the snow fall from my home.
We first noticed it a little after ten o'clock, when we were cleaning up. Maurice went to take an empty soda bottle out the back door to be recycled and, when he turned the light on, was startled to see the tiny white flakes drifting down. They weren't sticking to anything yet, but nonetheless David reminded me that I needed to give him the telephone number for the day care so that he could call in the morning and make certain that they were open. Alex looked out the window and told me it was Christmas.
David took Alex home and I returned in a separate car to the office. Somewhere along Interstate 95 the flakes began to grow, and to stick. Several patches of grass along the side of the highway were white with accumulated snow. By the time I passed the Baltimore Beltway, the snowflakes had become thick, fat, and heavy, and stuck tenuously to my windshield before the wipers slid them away. Distant landmarks had become nearly invisible in the fog of white flakes. As I drove along Mulberry Street I noticed that they had grown nearly to the size of the last joint of my index finger, in width and breadth if not quite in depth.
On Washington Street I stopped at a red light and watched the snow dance in the glow of a parking lot light. The light was bright and intense, and the snowflakes gleamed white for the brief moment in which they stood directly in front of the bulb, and then faded to dusty light grey as they fell toward Earth. I looked around and saw snow beginning to accumulate on a car parked long enough to cool. By the time I reached my office building and left the comfort of my car, the snow was beginning to stick to the sidewalk.
I had intended to work for six hours this morning, arriving at 11 in the evening and staying until five in the morning. Given the snowfall, though, plus the fact that both the day care and the University have expressed doubt that they will be open in the morning, I will be cutting that schedule short; if, when I wake up, the university has not, in fact, closed, I will work from home. If they have, then I will likely still work from home, but I will be secure in the knowledge that I have accumulated more hours than I otherwise would have and that I have been able to sleep thoroughly and to watch the snow fall from my home.
