I don't know what's gotten into me this week. I've come a little undone, I think. I don't know where I'm at.
I've longed, longed to tell you about my last week at Piranha Inc. I wanted to share with you every bit of the three lunches to which I was treated, and the evening of drinks in my honour, and the tidings of good luck and fare thee wells that have been handed to me all week. I wanted to let you in on the guilt I felt because I told my replacement to toughen up.
I've been itching to let you see the shirt that Stella sent me for Christmas. It came in the mail this week and I think it was designed especially for me as some kind of secret decoder thingy meant to unleash any last bit of sass that's buried deep inside me and has yet to find its way out.
I've fought the constraints of time, because I was having brilliant hair and it needed to be laid out for you, tress by adjective by perfect flip; hyperbole crossed with highlights. And all day today, with a weigh-in that told me I lost four pounds this week, and a pair of Calvins that have me proudly shifting my hips from one side of the room to the other with every step that I take... there weren't enough minutes to give you enough words.
I'm getting on a plane on Tuesday. I'm going to London for two weeks, you see. I'm going to London to 'learn the business' and then I will return to Toronto to start life anew. Do you understand me? I can't organize myself enough to keep you updated on the state of my jeans and my scale and my hair, and yet I expect to be able to come back from London all jazzed up and ready to be a national success.
One has nothing to do with the other, and yet in my head, it makes perfect sense to me, and it frustrates me that I don't have the talent to explain why the two are so closely linked in my head.
And yet... and yet... omens abound, maybe? I manage to carry water in a leaky bucket further than I can carry a tune, but tonight I got up and karaoke'd my way through Can't Take My Eyes Off Of You, and during the DA duh DA duh Da duh DA DA DA DAA duh Da duh DAAAAA part, I wiggled and danced and made a spectacle of myself and it was good and fun and though I'm not a singer, I still did it. So... maybe... maybe...
I don't know. It's confusing, and I'm muddled and it's cold outside. No one can be expected to think clearly when it's -38C with the wind chill. It's confusing, and I'm muddled, and I've had a few Glenfiddiches, and no one can be expected to think clearly when their throat is still warm from the heat of Scottish silk. It's confusing and I'm muddled and I've not written nearly enough, and no one can be expected to think clearly with a brain full of untold tales, and words without words, and shame and pride and fear and brazen courage and relief and disappointment. And the bittersweet taste of being missed, mixed with tortellini a la panna.
I'm scared. But I'm doing it anyway.
DA duh DA duh Da duh DA DA DA DAA duh Da duh DAAAAA
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