because it’s so hot in my office I might suffer from heat stroke any minute. A writer friend of mine, Chris, once wrote an excellent article on the freaky relationship we humans have with temperature. He talked about how women in his office run space heaters and wrap themselves in blankets during the summer and turn their fans up and dress in sleeveless blouses in the winter because his corporation simply.can’t.get. the.temperature.correct. He also brought up some interesting gender issues, how men always like to keep the office cooler than women do. And fellow blogger and my friend, Katie, wrote a post a while back about the temperature wars in her office, and how throughout the summer, in defiance of HR’s strict thermostat control, employees would place steaming cups of coffee on the thermostat in order to kick-start the air-conditioning.
In my office, the temperature is never consistent. Heat and air-conditioning are controlled (as I know I once wrote) in one office, and the woman who works in that office is busy lobbying for a smoke-free workplace or stem-cell research or some cause she deems worthier than TURNING DOWN THE GODDAMN HEAT. So instead of working we are all walking around the office today, poking our heads in co-workers doorways and asking the obvious: Are you hot?
To further illustrate my point, here is a composite of several conversations I’ve had today:
Other employee: Are you hot?
Me: I’m BOILING hot.
Other employee: God, me too. It’s so HOT. Where the hell is ______? She controls the thermostat.
Other employee: Ug. I’m so hot.
So not much in the way of work is actually getting done today, except maybe by our Thermostat Controller, who is not in the office.
And, it’s Monday. And I ate a cupcake decorated with pink sugar versions of the breast cancer ribbon. And I’ve lately been moaning quite a bit about work, which I need to stop doing – time to return to intellectual discussions about books and writing and the upcoming elections, and whatnot.
But all of that is going to have to wait, you see. Because it’s October and October always makes me overworked and a little saracastic and jealous of all the women out there who somehow find a way to balance housework and family and work and exercise and nutritious meals and reading and writing and time with friends and time for self, all the time sporting flawless hair and manicured toes while I am snarling in my office, feasting on candy cancer awareness ribbons, and slowly dehydrating. Everything in betwen will return to thoughts on books and writing and all things bloggy on Wednesday, which actually launches NaBloPoMo which your host has crazily signed up for, with one caveat – because I’ll be out of town attending a literary conference for 4 days, I promise NOT to post every day, but to provide you with 30, yes 30 posts for the month of November. A crazy commitment? Perhaps. A doable one? Definately. So I hope to see you all on November 1st to kick of NaBloPoMO in style, which means I’ll be writing about any and all drivel that comes to mind.
So actually, it’s good I’m about to go post this text, instead of delete it, which is my instinct.