I shed the winter wear, and donned the spring jacket today for the first time this year. The weather is not only humane; it's actually lovely. And it's about time, seeing as it's the 14th bloody day of April! The spring thaw has finally happened.
Five years ago today, the climate was unnaturally gorgeous, the start of an extremely long and wonderful Canadian summer that I missed completely. I remember, because five years today, I left home for the first time. I went to England for the first time. I flew alone for the first time. It was a day of many firsts, that 14th day of April 1998. Emotion ran as high as the temperature, and there had never been, nor has there been since, as many I love yous exchanged between my family and I, as there were that day at the airport.
I had fought for months to save the money, to convince my parents, to make them understand that moving to a country I'd never even seen, for anywhere between a few weeks and 2 years was a good thing for me. And as clearly as if it was yesterday, I remember sitting on the sofa in the basement two nights before, Easter night actually, watching Grease and trying in vain to bring forth even one of these reasons. For the life of me, I couldn't remember one single reason why I was embarking on this insanity.
It turned out to be the best thing for me, of course, and would have been better if I'd stayed longer than 8 months. I wouldn't have regressed so much, I think. But that's a whole 'nother therapy session.
Five years, man. And this summer, I'm gonna see them all again, at a reunion that I single-handedly organised. Maybe I haven't regressed as much as I thought.
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So, my darlings, you all remember that on Friday, I took a little tumble down a flight of stairs? Yes, well, in my inimitable way, once I'm on a roll, the fun just never ends. A few scant hours after that, I stumbled - not fell, mind you! - just tripped mightily, over a large box that was in the office. Not a small box. Not even a medium size box. No, I managed to do a triple toe loop over a large box that was quite plainly in view. Go ahead. Ask me how the hell I did that.
Don't know. No idea. I just did. Things like that come naturally to me.
Oh, but it gets better, poppets. You know how much I love you, right? You know I'm always one to give you the laughs... and here's today's quota of happiness and chuckles for your pleasure.
I broke my toe on Saturday night. Oh, don't freak out. Toes break and mend all the time. A good stubbing will snap it, and as long as you don't go dancing on it for a few days, and ice it nicely, it'll heal properly. You can't cast it or anything like that. Don't bother going to the doctor with it. They'll just send you home with some ice.
See, what happened was this.
I had just come home Saturday night from an evening of rather dismal bowling. I go bowling approximately once every 2 years, so you'll have to excuse my lack of skill. There has never been a worst bowler than me, people. No, don't disagree. I managed to bowl a 19 on Saturday! 19! Ok? 19! Just try to beat that! Huh? Huh? Exactly. I'm worst than you. So there.
Anyway, I come home, and for no reason whatsoever, I managed to bang my stocking foot into the foot of the couch - a piece of furniture that hasn't moved in 15 years, in case you were wondering. I barely slept that night for the discomfort. It got to the point where I had to remove the blankets from my feet, because they were too damn heavy. By Sunday morning, the toe in question - my wedding ring toe, in case you're wondering - bore an uncanny resemblance to your average Concord grape.
Putting on a shoe this morning was so much fun.
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Right. Happy Monday, my beauties.
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