I’m the one who’s balmy, leaving the warmth and darkness of my bed to venture out to work in such ungodly cold. But since retirement is about 25.5 years in my future (a conservative estimate, that), I dressed and went to work. In the less than 10 minutes I waited at the bus stop, I thought I was going to freeze. Even with mittens, my fingers were frozen to near immobility.
There was actual work to do today. Six reports were in the tank, waiting for my transcription skills, and I did over four of them. One of the psychiatrist’s two reports is half completed, but I decided to give my ears a rest and concentrated on non-transcribing-related work for the rest of the afternoon–batching up documents that are headed to scanning, completing steps on ex parte orders, etc.
Now that I’m home, I haven’t made any real trips out of the house, except to run trash out to the barrel in the alley. That’s a short enough errand that I don’t even bother putting on my coat and mittens, and I manage to zip out to the alley, drop in the outgoing trash, and sprint back in.
There hasn’t been any word from the sleep clinic (other than a nice thank-you card) about my C-PAP. I’m not sure if the doctor has yet to read my results and calibrate it, or where the machine is in red tape hell, but for the moment I’m sleeping without it. I am sleeping better with the Seroquel and the restless-leg medication, but it’s still far from optimal.