Chandri MacLeod (chandri) wrote,
Chandri MacLeod

The other shoe. Or boot, as the case may be.

I've been refreshing the weather site since about noon, watching the temperature drop and the little picture of the snowfall get more and more deeply buried, and whimpering quietly.

I've also been refreshing the college webpage, which presumably will tell me if the college is closing early before our supervisor does. The latter refuses to commit to whether or not we're closed, or going to close. It says we may close, that we will in all likelihood close, but that we're not closed yet, and that I should keep on refreshing until it tells me otherwise... "otherwise," in this case, meaning "get your damn boots on, bundle up, and RUN up the hill before you can't get home unfrostbitten." Actually I don't know if it's quite cold out enough for frostbite. It sure as hell felt like it, this morning.

Yes, I am impatient. Wondering whether I will be walking home merely in the snow, or in the dark in the snow, is distracting.

I am also hungry. I somehow managed to leave my lunch in the fridge this morning, which leaves me with a half-empty thermos of tea, two Peak Frean cookies, and four dollars, which is not quite enough to buy anything other than cookies in the cafeteria, which probably isn't serving anything I can eat today, anyway. Chartwell's sucks for vegetarian options.


My, but I'm all sunshine and happiness today, aren't I?

Shut up. It's fucking snowing out. Yuck.

Also, I don't want to put on my coat just to cross the Concourse to the place where they supposedly sell food, as it is cold enough in the Concourse to see your breath. That's not right, is all I'm saying.

Hokay. I think I shall try and write something. With any luck at all I'll get into a groove just as they come around telling us to flee for the doors before they're frozen shut.

Yes. Yesterday, they were frozen shut.

I know. What the hell.
Tags: food, job, seasons

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