You are about to read what is, maybe, the longest run-on sentence ever!

Morning, Internets!

It's only 9:02 AM and already I have checked off two of the things on my to-do-at-work post-it. That means it's time for a little illicit blog-posting, thus (probably) disobeying the work computing agreement I agree with every time I log onto the network and possibly ensuring THE TERMINATION OF MY CONTRACT. On the other hand, I think they're going to be pretty hesitant to dismiss someone as professionally dressed as I am, so I should be safe.

(Re: the post-it. Most of the people I work with have Crackberries, and we use Microsoft Outlook for everything. People have laptops and tablet laptops and, I don't know, robot butlers. It's a very high-tech office, which makes sense since I work for the tech consulting branch of the ministry of education. I'm the only one who insists on kickin' it old skool by writing things in a notebook I carry around. Although I would undoubtedly get addicted to the portable e-mail too, if only I were funded for it. However, I know I'm the only person in the world to say so, but I kind of like Outlook. Every time I get a meeting request I'm touched: me? You want little old me at your meeting? Well, sure, honey! And any computer program that lets me colour-code things is guaranteed to go over well.)

I woke up this morning and it was still dark outside and snow was falling and the streetlamps were lit up like cheezy streetlamps are lit up in cheezy paintings. I've lived on the Canadian prairies for most of my life, and you'd think that by now I would be disenchanted with winter. And I am, for the most part. But the first big snow of every year looks like Christmas and Narnia and my childhood and, I don't know, Little House on the Prairie, and it wins me over. There is something ineffably romantic about the world being covered with new snow. And this is particularly true on the street where I live now, which being a Historical Area has cast-iron streetlamps and brick buildings and lovely trees. I wished I could stand there in my slippers and bathrobe drinking coffee and watching the loveliness of the scene, but unfortunately I don't own a bathrobe and I don't wear slippers because I hate having things on my feet (true fact!) and I am incapable of making my own coffee because I am coffee-retarded and, also, because I believe very strongly that I play an important role in keeping expensive but necessary coffee places in business, because I remember the Time Before Starbucks, and it was a cold, cold time. (In my fantasy, I AM Starbucks' business plan. Their business plan just says "Jocelyn's bizarre attachment to evil corporate coffee," and then has a bunch of appendices with graphs and charts.) Anyway, it was pretty much the nicest thing a dewey-eyed romantic like me can wake up to. I shall try to make the rest of the day live up to that precedent.