I need motivation. There are things to get done and… well… I lack motivation.

TASK: Going out to the cat clinic and getting cat food.
DEMOTIVATOR: A cold wind whistling in from the north at about a thousand miles an hour.
POTENTIAL MOTIVATOR: The cats will start nibbling on my cold, dead body if I don’t get them some kibble soon.

TASK: Hemming the new curtains.
DEMOTIVATOR: Getting out the sewing machine, finding a place to set it up, cleaning around the place I set it up, and keeping cats out of the fray.
POTENTIAL MOTIVATOR: Getting the stuff out of my room, where it’s cluttering the place up.

TASK: Sweeping, mopping and vacuuming.
DEMOTIVATOR: Sheer tediousness.
POTENTIAL MOTIVATOR: Having my husband come in and squat down to pet a cat and remark on how much the floor needs sweeping/mopping/vacuuming. Life is better when he is oblivious to these things.

TASK: Getting the baby’s room organized.
DEMOTIVATOR: It’s not like we’re feeling like we’re ever going to have a child any time soon. If at all. You kind of lose the magic when you’ve been waiting for a family, what is it now, FOUR YEARS?
DEMOTIVATOR #2: We’ve been using the room as storage. Where are we going to put all that STUFF?
POTENTIAL MOTIVATOR: You never know. We might get a referral. And monkeys might fly out of my butt.

TASK: Christmas shopping.
DEMOTIVATOR: No money.
POTENTIAL MOTIVATOR: Better now than when the crazy people are out shopping.

TASK: Blogging.
DEMOTIVATOR: I write every. frigging. day. What is left to say?
DEMOTIVATOR #2: Hardly anyone reads or comments on my blogs.
DEMOTIVATOR #3: I don’t get paid, and there are other things I SHOULD be doing.
POTENTIAL MOTIVATOR: The people who read my blogs enjoy it. And one day, somebody might pay me. But I doubt it.

TASK: Cleaning the cat litter and Opus’s cage.
DEMOTIVATOR: Dealing with poo.
POTENTIAL MOTIVATOR: It gets smelly when you don’t clean frequently.

TASK: Christmas baking.
DEMOTIVATOR: No money.
DEMOTIVATOR #2: We really don’t have a lot of people to bake for.
DEMOTIVATOR #3: I don’t feel Christmassy.
POTENTIAL MOTIVATOR: Beats sweeping and mopping and vacuuming.

We don’t do drop-ins here.

You know the thing: You’re watching TV/doing laundry/working on your computer and the doorbell rings. You don’t know of anyone who’d be coming by “at this hour”, so you don’t answer the door. Well, that is exactly how we are here.

The only people we know that would come to visit us would always CALL us first. Nobody we know just drops in. I mean, NEVER. And we would never just drop in on them.

You just… DON’T.

So when the doorbell rings, it is someone we don’t know, someone who has NOT called first and arranged to see us, or someone we don’t want to see.

There are exceptions, obviously. And that is when an education in ’60s television comes in handy. One must be able to peer through one’s drapes or blinds like Mrs. Kravitz to see who the heck would be just dropping in, in order to judge whether or not to answer the door. Mrs. Kravitz had neighbour-watching down to an art form.

And so, as I made the bed this morning, when a strange man appeared on our porch this morning and rang the bell, I took a page from Mrs. Kravitz’s book.

I peered through a crack in the curtains to see who it was.

I had no idea who it was. He was driving a car, parked on the street, that I did not recognize and he was wielding a vacuum or power washer or some other black-and-yellow appliance of some kind.

Of course, it’s hard to see WELL peering through the curtains. I wasn’t sure. So I ran over to the blinds and peered through them. Still didn’t recognize him.

And I was in my JAMMIES, so I wasn’t going to trot downstairs and open the door for just ANYONE. So, I watched him get in his car and drive away, and I went back to making the bed.

Except…

5 minutes later, the bell rang AGAIN.

I looked outside, and there was the same man, only this time he had pulled the car into the driveway. He had come back, specifically to our house.

So then I began to wonder. Should I recognize him? Are we expecting anyone to come by? Are we expecting any deliveries or service calls today?

Well, if we were, I certainly did not arrange them. So I got on the computer and messaged BDH.

Nope. Nothing.

So, the guy was just a persistent drop-in. Maybe he wrote down the wrong address and had an appointment at what he thought was our house. Maybe he thought our house looked particularly dirty and needed to be power-washed (in the snow) or vacuumed. Or maybe he was just coming to murder me since he knew I was in the house alone.

Whatever it was, it doesn’t matter. You don’t call first, we don’t answer the door.

We don’t do drop-ins.

Sunday’s a day of rest, right? Because I am pooped.

Yesterday BDH and I attended a course that we had booked a while ago, about taping and wrapping for athletic injuries. You know, when you turn your ankle or sprain something, and a coach/trainer/doctor-type person wraps it up in tape so it is fit to play again?

Yeah, that.

Since we’re both involved in sports, playing or coaching, and have been for years, we’ve both been taped to within an inch of our lives fairly often, and it’s a useful thing to know if you’re going to continue in sports. So we signed up for this course to learn how to do it properly. And it was really good. The woman who taught is a certified athletic trainer, and so she gave us all the information on how to protect injured appendages, how to take care of them, and how to wrap and tape properly.

I have to tell you: it’s one of those things that looks easy to do. And then you try to do it yourself, and realize how tough it is.

I’ve tried taping my own ankles many times, and I’ve taped up the girls we coach when they’ve needed it. But after yesterday, I realize what a hack job I had been doing. There’s a real skill and a science behind the way athletic injuries are taped, and it’s something that I’ve always been interested in. But wow, it’s more physical than I thought it would be and it certainly involves a whole lot more thought and precision than I would ever have imagined.

Also? I am really frigging slow and meticulous at it. I want my tape job to be PERFECT. And consequently, I was always the slowest one in the class. Oh well.

But we really enjoyed the information, and had a good day learning and practicing and taping up each other’s fingers and thumbs and ankles and shoulders and whatever else could get injured. I really, really enjoy the whole athletic-trainer thing, so I paid attention to everything and worked really hard to understand and do a good job at it. It was a full day, and now I am pooped.

Also? My fingers kind of hurt from tearing tape ALL. DAY. LONG. It is not easy. I am pretty good at it. But BDH had a roll of tape made of titanium or something, so he was really struggling and sore by the end of the day.

I know people say that “education is wasted on the young”. I know that when we get older, we appreciate learning more and we work harder to learn more when we have opportunities like this, and we enjoy the prospect of learning more. But I had forgotten just how taxing being in a classroom learning all day can be.

Yes, kids go to school for a full day, but they are younger and have more energy, both physically and in the brain box. Even when we were in university, we had more energy (even taking into account how drunk we were and how late we were out partying and dancing a lot of the time). Nowadays, I find that these intensive day-long courses make for very long days. I am tired at the end of it.

Today, I am going to do some cooking and cleaning and laundry and work around the house. You know, easy stuff. Stuff that won’t bend my brain so much.

Yesterday afternoon, they forecast a storm would be coming through starting overnight, but there was no sign of it at bedtime last night.

Before going to bed, I told BDH I hoped it would be a snow day. I like snow days, because we can’t go anywhere, but also because BDH gets to stay home from work. I also asked if he needed me to pack a lunch. I’ve been sleeping poorly with my mask the last two nights, and so if he did not need a lunch, I might take the opportunity to sleep in. And he didn’t, so I shut my alarm off and went to bed.

We got freezing rain overnight, the start of what is supposed to be our first storm of the winter. I did sleep in, and around 8:15, I woke up and got out of bed. I had heard the “ping! ping!” of ice pellets hitting the windows during the night, and so I figured the storm had started. I got up and went to the window. The street was still, and many of the neighbours’ cars were still in their driveways. As was ours — covered in ice.

I went out into the hall and it was quiet. No noises from the bathroom. No sign BDH had showered. I checked upstairs to see if he was on his computer — nope. I put my ear to the door of the spare room and could hear him in there, sleeping.

I wake up first around here. Normally if it’s getting late and he’s still asleep, I’ll wake him up and check that he’s ok. But since the weather was bad, I figured a little sleeping in would be good for him.

I went downstairs to the kitchen and BDH’s stuff was all by the front door, and his iPod and blackberry and such were all on the island in the kitchen, ready to go. It looked like he had gotten up, checked the weather, found it not good, and had gone back to bed. I thought about checking on him, just to be sure, but I decided against it. Just let him rest, I thought. I was glad for him to get a little time to sleep in — he’s been tired lately. So I went about my morning routine.

At around 9, I heard noises upstairs. BDH came out and called to me, “What time is it?” I told him it was 9 o’clock.

Suddenly, there was a whole lot of frantic, all over the place.

Rush, rush rush! “Why didn’t you wake me up?” Rush, rush, rush!

Well, I explained about the snow day and his stuff being ready to go and how I thought he was home because of the bad weather.

I was wrong.

As it turns out, BDH’s digital alarm clock has stopped during the middle of the night — well, at 5:50 am, exactly, as a matter of fact. I went in and looked at it, and it was true. A DIGITAL clock. Stopped, frozen, on one time. Weird.

He had only gotten up because he looked at the time and thought, “It’s far too light outside to be 5:50 in the morning.”

He called the office and made his apologies, and told them he’d be in as soon as he could. And then he was rushing around again, getting ready.

I felt terrible. I apologized — a few times. I told him why I’d thought it was a snow day. I explained I was just trying to let him get a little sleep. And, in the end, I promised that if ever he was in danger of being late, I was to wake him up.

And, with a last reminder that snow days are only for children, he rushed out the door, alarm clock in hand.

Although, it did take him 20 minutes to clear the ice off the car. So I wasn’t completely wrong — the weather had been bad, and for a lot of people, it probably was a snow day.

It’s another cold, rainy November day, one of those days where you just want to hibernate. Stay in bed, pull the covers over your head, and snooze the day away.

Except… it is also GARBAGE day. So, we must get up, get moving, and be productive.

Yesterday (or was it Monday??) was a rare, perfect day for November: bright sunshine, clear skies, and warm weather. Sadly, it only lasted a day. I think I’d like November more if we had more of those days, but we don’t. Here in the centre of farm country, we get rain, and lots of it, which I am sure is good for the farmers and wonderful for the water table after a blistering summer, but not so good for The Me.

It’s a good day for some things, though. I sent BDH off to work with stew for lunch, with biscuits right out of the oven this morning. It’s a good day for comfort food. And it’s always a good day for baking, but even moreso today, when it will take the chill off the house and make it smell nice. It might also be a good time to start tunnelling into the nursery room, and clearing out the clutter a bit.

Monday through Wednesday are my heaviest writing days, with a few very detailed and heavily-researched articles to get done. So it will also be a nice day to get away from this infernal machine… well, except for the music. I have my music on this thing, so it still follows me around if I want to listen to songs while I work.

I want something really GOOD to happen in November. Something that will make it a month of excitement and celebration. Because with the rain and everything, it’s so hard to get up and motivated and excited about stuff. (I was hoping we’d get our referral or maybe Mystery Baby would be born in November but HA! Not flipping likely.)

Oh well. So here I sit watching the drizzle. At least it is not snow.

No, I say to you. No, no, no.

I am in denial. I am in ignoring-reality, blankets-pulled-up-over-my-head, stomping-my-foot denial.

They’re calling for FLURRIES this week.

*gasp!*

I know, right? FLURRIES. I mean, come ON.

Now, I am no fan of winter. I hate cold and snow. I took up reading and later, indoor sports, to avoid being told to “go outside and play” between the months of November and March.

I will, occasionally, confess to gazing outside at the falling snow and think, “How pretty”. But that is from the comfort of my well-heated house and usually involves me with a mug of something warm in my hands and a blanket and several cats within snuggling distance.

But people, it’s November! It’s too EARLY! I am not READY for snow yet.

Not even in little blowy flurry amounts.

It’s wrong.

I will also confess that whenever people talk about “global warming”, I may nod and look like I am paying attention, but actually? I am wondering whether this might mean we get to bypass some of the white stuff from now on.

I am secretly looking over at global warming with a little flirty glance. Does that make me a bad person? Probably.

Yes, I KNOW there are good things about winter. I KNOW it means I can pull out all my warm comfy-comfies. I can get out the sweaters with the reindeer and the cheerful-looking winter motifs embroidered on them. I have an excuse to cuddle with the cats and BDH. I have an excuse to sit and knit.

And it’s not the cold. I don’t mind the cold.

It’s the damn snow. And — wait for it — the frigging freezing rain. Oh doG, how I loathe the freezing rain.

Sniff.

I need to go bake something now. Do some self-pity-baking. Grumble and moan about the oncoming winter as I whip up some tasty baked goods.

BAH. Winter.

I am just going to forget about it, and maybe it will go away.

Things that are good on a weekend:

• An extra-large dark mochaccino
• Bubby time
• Pigtails
• Pigs in a blanket
• The Times Online Galaxy of Stories (which I listen to in bed)
• Leisurely reading of a newspaper
• Knitting
• Well-written TV shows on DVD
• Cleaning the garage
• Oven stew
• No plans
• All-day breakfast with real home fries
• A cup of sweet tea and a cat on your lap
• Visiting with friends
• A bubble bath
• Comfy clothes
• Afternoon naps
• Canadian Tire (but only in the early morning)

Things that are not good on a weekend:

• Crazy busy grocery stores
• Traffic
• Planning too much
• Malls
• Cleaning the kitchen
• Elaborate hairstyles
• Telemarketers
• Neighbours doing yard/home improvement work before 10 am

OW. I have a headache. I think I have a post-Halloween hangover.

I didn’t drink anything last night, though… unless the alcohol content of 7UP has suddenly skyrocketed.

Is it possible to have a post-sugar-rush hangover? I did overindulge a wee bit in mini candy bars. But, how does one resist the call of the mini Caramilk bar? Hmmm? You tell me.

There was also that 11 pm soccer game of BDH’s, which I went along to not only to see him play, but also to make sure he was not driving home alone, after midnight, in the rain, when he is tired. And it was a very good game — they won 5-0.

So I didn’t really get to bed until about 1 am. And then there was a good deal of fussing by Miss Cinnamon, who thought she wanted to come in and sleep with me, but then when she saw my mask and machine, thought better of it.

So, 1:30 or so I settled in to sleep. And that means I fell asleep sometime before 2 am. A bit of a late night, then, fuelled by Halloween excitement and buckets o’ sugar.

And, apart from waking up this morning feeling as though I have been smacked in the face by a tired stick, I have a headache.

Or, perhaps I have a headache BECAUSE I was smacked in the head with a tired stick.

I feel distinctly hangover-y.

I am not as young as I used to be.