I slid across the parking lot, then wrapped my arms around the guardrail to bodily haul myself up the stairs. Mental note #1: how do hockey players deal with this all the time? Mental note #2: why didn't the hotel salt or sand these stairs and the parking lot?

The lunch was good. Well, decent, anyway. To avoid the crush of iced-in families in the main part of the restaurant, I sat at the bar. The young man who plopped down next to me explained, in the chatty way that people sitting in restaurant bars have, that he was a newlywed waiting for a flight out so that he and his new wife could go on their honeymoon. She showed up a few minutes later, and we all chatted as we ate.

I made sure to order enough food so that I wouldn't have to go out again for dinner. I boxed up the extra food and then went back outside…where I promptly fell down.

I ended up sliding across most of the top parking lot on my ass. Seriously. It was easier than trying to walk/slide/skate down. Once faced with the stairs again, I wrapped my arms around the stair rails and gingerly lowered myself down a step at a time, praying for mercy and unbroken bones until I reached the bottom parking lot. I got myself back to my room, cursing my now freezing and wet ass, and promptly changed into my pajamas so that my jeans could dry.

I took a nap, played computer games, called some friends, damned the phone bill I knew would be coming, and did my best not to go stir-crazy. Judging from Andy and Dan's laughter at me, I think I'm failing in that wish.

Brr. I think I need to turn the heat on again. It's getting chilly in here.

Sigh. There is something about the impersonal blankness of a hotel room that, when you're forced to stay in it for days at a time, eats into your soul. I find myself wishing for touches of comfort—pictures and art on the walls, cats twining around my feet or snuggling in my lap. A phone that occasionally rings, with friends on the other end of the line. A kitchen with real food—not candy and chips and other crap that I'm getting from the vending machine.

I want to be able to leave this room and go places without endangering my health or my life. I think I would make a very lousy Canadian.