Wholly Uninspired

I had an amazing long weekend. So amazing and relaxing that I don't want it to end, and so I sit here, watching the night click away and knowing that dawn and work and the start to my new week, albeit a short one, are a few hours away. The longer I sit, the further behind the 8 ball I put myself for the new week...

See, here's the thing. I don't have to work until noon. And so if I don't get to bed until 3 a.m., I can still get eight hours of sleep. I know. You hate me. But hours after you've all gone home and eaten your dinner and run your errands and snuggled up with your significant others, I'm still shooting gymnastics and listening to police scanners and fielding caption questions. I'm just sayin.'

I'm trying to think of a funny, Idiosyncratic Life, Angie-esque story I could tell you, but I'm feeling wholly uninspired. Feh. Joel and I went up to Mear Bountain Pate Stark and stayed overnight in one of the stone lodges, which sound very romantic and cool, but are actually hotel rooms (and not even all that NICE of hotel rooms, to be honest) with a common area and a giant fireplace. Which, again, seemed very cool and romantic when we decided to go up there.

I figured that the weather would be either snowy and beautiful, and we could do some nice shooting and throwing snowballs at each other like an idyllic LL Bean Catalogue couple. Or it would be unseasonably warm and we could hike and go ice-skating in their outdoor rink, which is open any day that it's less than 55 degrees in the winter.

Instead it was rainy and foggy all weekend. And they aren't open on Mondays, so we could only stay over on Saturday night. And when we pulled down the comforter to sit on the sheets, which are, in theory, cleaner than hotel room comforters (hi Kel), we found drops of blood all over the sheets. Awesome!

So we changed rooms. We did get to go ice skating. I made a big, fat hairy deal about saving the life of this sad moth that had got stuck on the ice and was fluttering about in his death throes. Then I put him on the railing and we realized someone had sliced off part of one wings, probably with the blade of their skate. So I "rescued" this moth, only to realize that I had prolonged his agony by making him flop around on the railing until a bird flies by and eats him. So Joel squashed him to end the agony mercifully. Do you think moths have the ability to feel hope? GOd, I hope not.

Moth: (chatter)So.. Cold. I flop! I strain! Farewell, cruel wor- THE HELL?
Me: (giant smeary out of focus face, as seen from moth's perspective) Hello, Mr. Moth! Let's get you off this ice!
Moth: Saved! Hooray! Let's see if we can't figure out what's wrong with this wing?
Me: Oh, no. Oh, dear.
Moth: (frantic fluttering) PANIC! PANIC!
Joel: SMASH

That's pretty much all I've got for ya, folks.