Today I have the burning pink eyes-not the conjuctivitis sort-just the tired type.
My mom asked me on my way out this morning why I did not get home until 3 am when I picked O up from the airport at 1:30 am. That was a long story...
First there was the fact that we got lost-I assume it was due to the dark-and found ourselves in some insane road workers paradise. Seriously, I have never seen more orange barrels in my life. I watched as all the lanes merged into one, and then as that one continued to narrow, rather dangerously, in on itself. Just like Alice, I wondered how we would possibly fit through! But, fit we did. This was followed by an extremely long visit to the Arbys drive-through in some far off land, probably Kearns. I don't think the night shift gets many clients, consequently, they did not know exactly what to do with us. After leaving our wild-eyed friends at Arbys, I pulled out the GPS. Despite the help, we still had to get on and off the freeway a few times when we found ourselves going the wrong direction. Eventually we did make it home, though I then had to finish a chapter in the book I became engrossed in while waiting at the airport and consequently did not get to bed until after 3:30. Unfortunately (for my eyes), I had to leave the house at a time when no one decent person should be out of bed-7:30 am!! It was horrid.
So this morning I got some experiments rolling and napped in my car. It turned out to be a bit awkward, with my coworkers all peering out the window at me. I cannot blame them entirely, I'm sure they thought they are invisible. The windows do normally appear mirrorish from the outside but, it turns out, at certain times of the day, one can see right in. I'm a little mortified recalling the Fedex woman last week-she came knocking at the front door (which I had locked because I was all alone in the lab that day) and, when that failed to elicit a response, she came knocked on the window, about two inches from my face, where I was working on the computer. I just sat there like a dear in the headlights, thinking 'she cannot see me'. After a while she gave up and left the package with the people next door. I really hope it was the time of day when you are invisible behind the windows.
So there I was, trying to get a little sleep, with people peeping at me. I suppose they think I'm homeless of late, haven't done my hair in days, sleeping in my car, and doing my laundry in the sink at work. Although technically I'm not doing laundry, just trying to bleach two of my fav shirts back to their former white glory, before I dyed them purple. I've half a mind to snip up the purple shirt responsible for that catastrophe, except then I'd be out three shirts and I'm not sure that would help things.
Speaking of shirts, I have another one I'm a tad worried about. I had the brilliant idea to have this darling tailor girl put sleeves on this cool flowy tank top. She seemed perfectly competent when I dropped it off. Yesterday I went in to pick it up. I tried it on and thought-oh dear, she has turned this into a shirt for a stick figure, the sleeves were that tiny! I go out to look in the mirror, she watches my reaction anxiously. I was pretty much speechless. I am thinking, well, the shoulders are sticking up, and not in the back-in-fashion shoulder pad sort of manner. Not to mention the fact that my arms look like hotdogs. Struggling, I bent my arms and patted my shoulders, of course, I could not reach that high so I ended up patting my chest. I said, "do these seem to poke up"? She did agree, made some marks, and told me she would fix those. I somehow managed to get out of my shirt and out of the shop. I went and sat in my car, too stunned to move. I thought, well, the sleeves did not seem to work. I rallied myself and went back into the store. I told the girl I thought the sleeves were a bit tight and that I should probably try it on once more. So the second time I came out and was shocked at how dreadful the transformation was. The girl sort of hovered around while I tried vainly to swing my arms about. She did not say anything so I said "well, I guess I don't really need to move my arms" and she just agreed, ya. So I took off the shirt and left on that note. I guess I'll have to find some unique event to wear that top to, perhaps when I have lunch with John McCain.