It's De-licious, thanks.

"Hearts like a feather; but who knows what's waiting in the wings of time?". Mr. Gray. Shit. Shit. Shit. I will rise from the ashes like a bird aflame. This is new, I know. But the gloves are comin' off from here on in. Them's fighting words and I will not back down.

Today was an interesting day. I began it frazzled, greasy and exhausted and I am ending it frazzled, greasy and exhausted. The funny thing is that my day took it's course in the shape of the letter U. It started slowly, moving in slow motion towards the slippery slope downward, spiraling really into a classroom of Grade Three kids who don't know how to glue, words and stories about Penguins during I-love-to-read-month caught in my throat, wasting time at a mall, watching people and loitering everywhere possible, reading everything in sight just for a second's worth of satisfaction among my hours of boredom. Then it was my first annual date with salad tongs, all the while being bombarded with news of an divorced cousin who I would rather not think of in such an uncomfortable setting. I coasted on laziness and relief for the afternoon; smirking at bus riders and meeting JJ for tea and shrieking in harmonious melody in the Village. Yosh came and went and eventually the U took a turn for the worse somewhere after a pitstop at Chicken Chef around 8:30.

Our server was a woman named Joyce who had worked at the same establishment for well over nine years and was still excited to shower us with her unmistakable order writing flourish. It made me take a silent step back and think about how happy I felt about the simple things in life. I felt calm in retrospect. Between the two of us, Yosh and I managed to put back six comically large pieces of chicken, one 'slaw, one potato salad, two buns that taste like delicious, edible cotton balls, two generous scoops of mashed potatoes, an order of fries, one milkshake, one piece of raisin pie a la mode and about four gallons of gravy. I peaked at dinner and didn't have much to say for the rest of the night.

Back at home I am finally typing in haste and thinking about specific things with a Kevin Rempel grimace on my face. Yosh's smell is still lingering and Cat Stevens is oblivious to everything except maximum pancreatic projection and the occasional shriek. Even my softest flannel shirt is failing to settle the racket in my ribcage. At least Doctor Clark ruled out Angina this afternoon. That news was somewhere near the full swing of the U.

New pictures are here, shot with my gem Nikon Nancy (F3; film) and I am pleased as punch at how my friends slay as subjects of my candid demands.

Bath water running, Across the Universe begging to be watched yet again. This face is heading for Down Duvet town. I am extremely pleased with my new leather briefcase.

Mags.