Sortilège is one of those things that, if liked at all, are typically liked a lot, a class of article that also includes poutine, butter tarts, and ketchup. It’s all yuck to me, and sometimes I wonder if my Canadian birth certificate would be revoked if the government ever found out.

It’s still grey, wet, and too warm for January in Stratford; I continue to feel washed-out and wobbly, presumably from COVID after-effects; and the cats are fighting again for no apparent reason. Things really have to improve.

What if I were to wash the kitchen floor? Or would that be too drastic?