Unbelievably, this is the last day of my last week of sanity until the end of finals. I won't lie. Not everything about the last five days has been fantastic. There have been fights, sickness, horrible weather, homework, stress, meltdowns, poor eating, failed bread dough, etc.. But yesterday was mostly fantastic. Tim and I took a leisurely tour of the used bookstores on Whyte Ave, then bought beets, avocadoes, a smooth and tiny green cabbage, red grapes, lettuce, and three kinds of hot pepper to supplement the shopping trip on which Tim, left with a list and no explanations, bought a litre of sour cream (but no beets to make borscht with), a large bunch of spinach (but no avocados to use in green monsters), and everything for salad (except lettuce). It wasn't really his fault. The term for Superstore's produce section at night is 'ravaged'.
We also went to Chapters - no used bookstore charm there, but an impressive selection of literary periodicals, and me with a notepad and a pen, jotting down addresses.
I have big plans for this last day. They include
a slow pot of soup,
a shirt, altered to fit my new smallness,
an ensconcement on the red couch with my new-used books (Cavafy, Sexton, William Carlos Williams, Graham Swift) and The Language Instinct by Steven Pinker,
the Symphony tonight with Tim (Beethoven's 3rd), wearing red boots,
20th birthday plans becoming concrete,
a redemptive batch of bread,
a pile of drafts,
a load of laundry,
a date with my dumbbells and our apartment's one flight of stairs,
I hope your Friday is also full of plans for everything good.
P.S. And yes, yes, you're right. That at the top, my friends, is a new spurt of growth on Matilda the vine. Plant luck is improving around here.
P.P.S. There is no way I can continue my Return to the Pill experiment any longer. I want to eat all the white flour and sugar in sight. So long, calendar-package.