Hints on how A.E. Graves spends her imaginary spare time
I know I’m more likely to see them because it is so darned dark when I get out of bed, but… STILL.
THE COLORS ARE AMAZING. I get the warm fuzzies just for being alive and having color vision to see this.
It was 93 degrees Fahrenheit in San Francisco today, our hottest day of 2024 so far. (Any day when I’m in shorts at a bus stop at 6:30 AM is already too hot a day.)
I fear it won’t be our hottest day overall.
As a native San Franciscan, I’m only fully operational up until about 78 degrees, so this was a tough one. Yes, I remember that day when it got up to 106. No, I do not remember that fondly. Yes, the whining here could likely be heard from space.
I’ll be optimistically hoping for fog in the very near future.
Oh, it’s been so lovely this week.
This week featured the soupiest, most dramatic fog.
The warmest, glowiest sunrise. (Yes, I may be making up words.)
Delightful conversations with people who are fun and talented at conversation, so that interacting with them felt so natural. The kinds of conversations that leave you smiling and feeling a little sunnier. (Sunnier a real word.)
My only regret is that I’ve been wreck on days when I’ve run live training for large groups. Interacting with so many people (and then continuing on to have a full day of meetings) just… EMPTIES me. And then I am mentally just pudding in human form, and can’t respond properly to others. I feel rude toward people who reasonably expect me to engage, but who don’t know that I’ve already given out all the communication I had in me.
I feel like I should wear a vest similar to the ones that service and police dogs wear that says “DO NOT PET.” I said similar – I’m not that size. (Also, I wouldn’t use that label, because there are people I know who might hassle me whenever I’m not wearing it.) The phrases I would use to both apologize and ask people to be gentle with me are all too long to put on a reasonably-sized patch, however.
If you know me: I appreciate your patience as I reboot.
I’m sure I logged on for some reason, but somehow I just spent time playing a Google Doodle game in which I am a kernel of popcorn trying not to be popped, and it is making me feel like someone used the ‘brain bleach’ on me without my knowledge…
I stayed in bed until after 9am, and I’m still astounded at how it feels to be RESTED.
I’m also a little concerned that this feeling is so novel.
And how quickly lunchtime arrived…
I returned home from work on Wednesday, and wondered why the lights were so bright and the lines in my kitchen seemed so wavy. I was just tired enough to wonder what was wrong with the lights… but it wasn’t the lights.
This is called “aura,” and it’s like the special effects you see when you have your eyes dilated by an eye doctor. I can achieve the same effect through the magic of MIGRAINE HEADACHES.
Despite the beginning of a new migraine series (they rarely happen just one day in a row), it’s been a lovely week. It isn’t just all the people congratulating me on my promotion, though that is sweet: it’s all the people just being delightful to interact with.
It’s the scientist I bumped into after leaving a bookshop, who chatted with me on the sidewalk for perhaps 20 minutes; it’s the young person from another team who is always so optimistic; it’s the gal from another company who once had me sample farmer’s market strawberries, and who chats with with me so comfortably that it feels like we’ve always known each other; it’s the gal from a global function who bought espresso with me and was charming even at 6:45 in the morning as we made our way toward our ferry; it’s the shuttle driver I ride with 3 or so times a week, who knows I don’t ride in the evening, yet rolled down his window to try to tempt me with a shuttle ride to the train station (which made me laugh out loud – it’s a free shuttle); it’s the attorney who popped into my office with a question, and then told me she is amazed that I am so consistently PLEASANT and that listening to my voice is like walking into a spa; it’s the workers at the fancy coffee place who know my name, and I know theirs…
Perhaps it was the isolation of 2020-2021’s safety precautions still influencing me, but I appreciate people being casually enjoyable so much. I’ve enjoyed it in the past, but it feels… more special now. Having lost those opportunities for a while, I ensure that I notice and enjoy them now. I will relish them right up to the next pandemic!
This year, I’ve traveled by plane three times for my career, but only once for recreation, which likely does reflect my priorities (ouch). It also feels like a lot of flying after the pandemic shelter-in-place times, even though it pales beside my old regular-commute-to-Europe phase.
This past week, I attended a conference in Las Vegas, where it reached 107 degrees outside. The conference schedule was packed and in a large hotel/conference center, which made it easy to stay engaged while hiding indoors from the heat. There were coffee and even espresso stations to help balance out the increasingly aggressive air conditioning with inner warmth. It was a good experience, and I even dreamt about new (highly sci-fi versions) of the presentations last night, so I am still processing what I experienced.
I’ve only been to Las Vegas twice, both times for this conference.
I have found it difficult to explain to friends who like Vegas why I don’t: just because I don’t enjoy drinking to excess, smoking of any kind, gambling, dressing for attention from hard-partying strangers, etc., doesn’t mean there is anything wrong with those activities. They just aren’t my cup of tea. And when it is over 100 degrees Fahrenheit outside, it isn’t like I can escape to the great outdoors – even frozen tea wouldn’t be enough to cool me to functional temperatures.
Returning home, I was filled with joy at the fog, plainly visible from the airplane, as we approached the City… It’s so good to be back in my natural habitat!
My employer’s mandatory return-to-site policy has been in effect for several months. A pattern has emerged: every few weeks, the safety team’s email arrives, letting me know that I have been exposed during a likely contagious period to an unnamed work colleague who subsequently tested positive for COVID.
Again. And again.
Masks are freely available at work, which is nice. Test kits aren’t: now, you must fill out a form JUSTIFYING why you want one from a menu of specific types of exposure. This seems… counterproductive.
I actively monitor myself, I keep fresh at-home tests stocked (at my own expense!), I pay attention to changes in how I feel. I maintain a supply of fresh Korean KF-94 masks (I like the fit), prettier Hong Kong masks (rated EN149 & FFP2; I like the designs and colors), and some even prettier Japanese fabric masks (because not every situation requires a highly rated mask, and Japanese fabric patterns are so hip). There are fresh masks sealed in containers in nearly every type of purse, bag, or backpack I carry.
But this is effort. And money.
As another COVID wave rolls through the office, and we must navigate our obligations to keep others safe while not necessarily being safe ourselves, I marvel that this most recent office exposure (day zero) resulted in an authentic COVID headache (TM) and fatigue on day 4 – without a fever and without testing positive. My relief at the mildness of my condition arm-wrestles with the frustration that I must be exposed this way at all, and don’t know what to expect next.
My interpretation of current official guidance is: if/when I feel fine, it doesn’t really matter if I have COVID anyway (!?!), which seems like something written by COVID itself.
I have jokey flashbacks to that scene from the Devil Wears Prada about being ‘one stomach flu away from [my] goal weight,’ and joke that I feel ripped off: rather than returning to the office slimmer, or with fewer wrinkles, or with firmer abs as the result of my exposure, I’ll only return to the office with a higher risk of stroke and other unwanted conditions. (Zero stars: I do not recommend COVID at all.)
I write this as someone who likes going into the office three (or even four) days a week. There’s something about the flexibility that hybrid work policies gave people to stay home when they felt a little off without needing to justify it that was broadly beneficial. Those are just GOOD policies.
I have the nerve to wonder why I am so tired.
The wonderful thing about weekends, though, is that naps are possible if I don’t overschedule myself. Yes, I was up at five something, but by eleven (AM!) I went down so hard for a nap that I considered checking my neck for drugged darts.
I needed that.
Unlike this bottle of Pocari Sweat, which I don’t need, but which I am truly enjoying…
I told my mother I felt really bloated.
She helpfully (?) told me that bloating was an early symptom of ovarian cancer for her.
If I’d wanted to be told that any possible symptom is cancer, I would have used a run-of-the-mill search engine to obtain my dread more efficiently.