I don't know what my parents were really thinking but my name is a homonym for "silkworm" in Japanese.
Or maybe they weren't really thinking.
The characters are different, obviously, but it still makes for somewhat awkward introductions. Like oh, hello, my parents named me after a worm that you eventually boil in its own cocoon to get silk thread, and no, my family isn't [legally] insane.
These days, though, the name seems more appropriate than ever. Because with thunderstorms predicted for the next week and the desire not to get sick, I'm dutifully wrapping myself up in a proper raincoat...and steaming in my own body heat all the way to and from work.
Put a cycling cap and a helmet on top of that and I was actually dripping sweat [yeah, seems like a common theme nowadays] when I got to work yesterday. The worse part being that when I got to the office, I couldn't get my raincoat off fast enough. With a sheen of salt water covering my arms, I ended up standing in front of my desk, waving my arms around as rivets of sweat ran down my face, desperately trying to free myself of the waterproof fabric.
Ripping off my shirt and tank top, all I wanted to do was douse myself in some ice water. Instead, in the tiny space between two desks, I struggled into a button down shirt, skirt, and heels, looking like I was ready to start another 9-5er at the office.
I say looking because although I was seated at my desk, a cup of coffee clutched in my left hand, I really just sat there for about 10 minutes, staring at a completely unexciting inbox, trying to somehow stop my uncontrollable sweating. Of course no amount of mental willpower actually did the trick; my mind only slowly flickered on when I heard the familiar stuttered rumbling of the AC kicking in.
Of course, the way home was worse. Refusing to wrap my legs in the same sauna-esque waterproof material, my bare legs got drenched within minutes, the water running down my thighs and the back of my knees to slowly soak into my knee highs, along with my misery. The rain and my own sweat worked to slow me down, and it wasn't until the mystery guy kitted out in an IBC jersey drew up beside me at a light that I realized that the streets were pretty deserted. The usual commuters just weren't out in this shitty weather.
With nothing to fuel my uber-competitiveness, I crawled home at a record slow, hardly bothering to pedal in better circles. The worst part being that when I got home, I was too drenched to bother getting on the rollers.
I'm justifying it as a "day off. We all need a few of those, right? I promise to do some time on those things tonight, though. Even if I get home absolutely soaked [with rain and/or sweat].