My head is killing me. Apparently I’m still sick. Drove into Kenora on a cold, rainy afternoon and had some trouble finding a motel with a room available. I decided to opt for the Waterview Inn which had a reasonably priced room available and no problem with dogs.
I do not recommend the Waterview Inn in Kenora.
It was depressing as all get out. The Bates Motel with a pinch of The Shinning, only sadder. I decided to give it a chance—it was just for one night. The room could have been adorable if it wasn’t for the entire rest of the motel, and clean enough if I didn’t allow myself to think of what those sheets would have looked like under a blacklight. Still, I could tough it out. Except for the smell! Walking in that room was like being forced at gunpoint to snort Febreeze. The smell could have been pleasant if it had been slight, but instead it was violently attacking me. Despite trying to air the room out, after twenty minutes I had a headache from the place (I swear my lips were starting to burn) so I decided to nix the Waterview Inn project.
The manager was kind enough to refund my payment after I explained my “allergies,” and by some miracle (named Tanya at the front desk) Charlie and I got the last room down the road at the Days Inn. It’s clean, warm, and comfy. Ironically, there’s a rather potent and nauseating weed smell in the hallway and I’d certainly feel even sicker if that garbage ditch weed shit was drifting into my room. But it’s not, so the rail guys are welcome to toke away as much as they please tonight.
And now, although I want to keep writing, my splitting headache and I are going to retire into this enormous bed.
One bedtime note: I often find myself chatting with old guys. This is usually a wonderful conversation habit, the only exception being the occasional dirty old man who’s working up to hitting on me. This afternoon’s old guy (whom I didn’t really invite into conversation in the first place) exited the conversation himself shortly after I mentioned I was meeting my husband tomorrow. Much more data is needed before drawing definitive conclusions here, but I will certainly be testing this maneuver more in the future! I also think my husband will be a cop. Yes, a cop in Minneapolis. He’ll need a good name…