Yesterday, I attended the meeting from hell. The details aren't important, though that is an odd thing to say given the topic of the meeting. If you really desire more information, the Cat gave a
succinct explanation of the substance. The only thing that I can add is that I popped an
Imitrex around 11:00, when I realized that I'd been clutching my forehead and/or nose for several minutes, hoping that the pain would abate. And that it really does seem strange that the cafeteria ran out of pasta before noon. I was honestly looking forward to ravioli (I should have been skeptical of such a thing, in
the middle of nowhere, but there's no accounting for taste), and was disappointed when I discovered that they were out.
While we were at the meeting, it began to snow. Well, rain and snow, off and on. Nothing was sticking, though, and at first it seemed to be one of those deals where we might get out easy. Well, we're not stupid, so we were still taking it pretty slow regardless. It's just a really good thing that we got out when we did. The meeting site is about 60 mi. (37 km) SSW of my current location. We arrived in less than an hour in the morning. It took us nearly two hours to get to my place in the evening. It didn't help that, on the first road that we took off of the interstate, we saw what looked like a 4WD truck
on its side fully 50 feet (15+ m) off of the road. It was not crushed, but just resting on its side as if it had slid for a very long time. On the drivers' side. Very scary. At that point we were moving at around 45 mph (72+ km/hr) but our speed slowed as a result of that sight. As did everyone else's who was driving anywhere around us. It was pretty scary. (I'm certain that the emergency workers who were running around that truck appreciated the increased care, too.)
Once home, I did all the things one usually does upon returning through the snow—the first measurable snow in January, I think—after a
long day at a
looooooong meeting in hell: I kicked off my shoes, made some spiral Mac 'n Cheese, and sat down to read my book. I finished
The Brothers K last week—didn't bother reviewing it since every time I've ever mentioned it on the blog I go on and on about how it's my favorite book, so are you going to believe me anyway if I tell you
why it's my favorite?—and was floundering for something that would be even half as good. I'm currently trying to get into
Tipping the Velvet. It was recommended by a close friend who has good taste, but...this is pretty weird stuff. Is that an "acceptable" word? "Weird," I mean? Because it's a lesbian novel, though that's not, truly, not what I mean by weird. God knows I've read more "scandalous" stuff, hundreds of times. And unless it changes dramatically later, this isn't really so explicit. It is, simply, strange, unlike anything I've read, though not in a way that I could describe as "good" or that faint, damning "interesting;" I would say "compelling." So I read my book and ate dinner (such as it was), lit all the candles I could find, and
tried not to think.
At some point I realized it was really quiet. I mean, strangely quiet.
Too quiet. It was Friday night, and there was no traffic. I put down my book and stood up, turned to face the windows, and was surprised to discover that
I couldn't see the road. It was snowing so hard that I literally couldn't see 50 feet away. The only sounds I could hear were the swishing of the snowflakes against the window...and sirens. All evening, sirens. Judging by how it felt when we were driving home, it must have been terribly slippery. Yet it was beautiful: that crazy sort of beautiful where it is also cold and messy and dangerous. It must speak to my inner home-state-er, because it is very difficult for me to resist it. And finally, I could not. Because I was already 'in' for the evening, though, I contented myself with removing the screen and opening the living room window to take some pictures. Got myself (and my chair, and my windowsill) all snowy in the process, but it was worth it.
