Brusque/Surly.

This morning Old K and I went for breakfast at Osborne Village Cafe. The backdrop of exposed white brick, avocado green vinyl booths, wicker chairs and paper menus only added to the quaint atmosphere. Under new management, the restaurant was surprisingly empty, save for a table of Chinese regulars being entertained by our toothy server with the buttery voice. After brunch I moved around my home for the better part of the day, reading bits and pieces from random books splayed open and dappling the surfaces of my apartment like dust, yet I found it hard to retain a thing. A certain bicycle leaning against my living room wall that matched the somber sky outside kept catching the corner of my eye making it hard to concentrate on anything. I wanted to ride so badly, but the snow was a strong deterrent. Resigned to the idea of staying in, water was boiled, garlic minced, onions chopped, tomatoes diced, pasta plated and dinner served. Alone. After an evening of watching countless episodes of Sex and the City and eventually dropping off into a dreamless sleep, I awoke with a start around eleven. Much to my chagrin, plans I had made with my cousin James only hours before were long slept-through and his obvious disinterest in rescheduling via a scrambled telephone conversation was quite the motivator in my solo night ride on the Phantom bike. Riding through the spotty streets on a fixed gear with slicks and a fazillion dollar frame is quite a different story than my usual faded standby. Literally unstoppable, my body was a self-propelled disaster waiting to happen. While toe clips proved to be a bit of a foreign matter at stoplights, rhythm was eventually found and it felt nice to clip at a breakneck place around the neighborhood. Days off are nice.

Tomorrow will be my first soccer match with the boys (if I stop being such a baby) and Mr. Intimidation lurks at the back of my brain. I am sleeping with cleats on to get in the zone tonight, no fooling around. JJ is leaving for Montreal on Tuesday to see Loco and while I am psyched for her/them, my I am bitter that I will not make it "three's a crowd"; getting BFF tattoos and rolling in Montreal grass like shrieking teens. Bon voyage dear gem, I will miss your face. Below are a sprinkling of Eurotrash photos from my trip with Rabbi and Kit just because I miss it.

To bed, empty brained, full, biked out, surly.

Madge.