Last night I dreamed that David took a new job in Kalamazoo and then turned into an orca whale and could no longer speak English. I chased him as far as I could into the ocean, but eventually had to head for shore.
I woke up in the heat. And was both disappointed and relieved.
I've lost all my motivation.
I keep looking at my kitchen and trying to talk myself into scrubbing it.
I need a motive. I look through my old motivators, searching for reinforcements.
Number 1: A smidge of OCD
RIM pipes up, "It would be clean."
All I can think is, "So?"
Number 2: Food
"You'd have dishes to eat on."
All I can think is, "It's too hot to eat." That's when I hatch a plan involving popsicles for dinner. No dishes required.
Number 3: Target
"As soon as you get your work done you can go to Target."
All I can think is, "I'm not leaving this house til the sun goes down. Or it's September. Whichever comes first." It'll probably be September.
Number 4 (the fail safe): Sex
RIM gives it one more try, "Nothing's sexier than a clean kitchen."
All I can think is, "What? Now that's just crazy. You didn't seriously think I'd fall for that did you?"
Besides it's too hot for sex.
Then again, I'd be naked. (Ideally.)