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.

For everything.

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.)

Still.