Saturday Night in Don Mills, Aw Yeah

Oowee! Your writing is gettin' real good, my friend. I love this line from your previous post: "My nose feels positively radiant, a month and a half away from those narrow roads." I couldn't have said it more eloquently.

Well, the fact of the matter is, I can't say that at all, poetically or not. That's great that our old friends (the hanger-ons) haven't found their way to your doorstep. 'Cause they sure keep knockin' on my door, and every two weeks, against my better judgment, I let them in.

Today is day 14 of the current cycle.
I feel pretty good and energetic. Productive, even.
But you know what that means: Ants in the pants.
And I got 'em. And my girl J is banging the gong.
And there's a good DJ at Footwork tonight.
So it all spells trouble for my resolve.

BUT:

I need to move forward. And I can't get anywhere on this crappy bi-cycle.
So, I'll make a pledge to our blog: If I do go out, I'll go home too. Unenhanced.
Because god knows I've made enough pledges to myself and haven't honoured them.
But I long for the restfulness you describe. I long to be somewhere new like you.

I'm thrilled to hear you like it where you are. It really sounds like the best choice for the first stop on your tour. Not so jarringly different that it's hell to process, but different enough to know you're away. Perfect. A perfect way to cultivate your travelling legs.

Tell me about your neighbourhood. Have you started to find those little things that mark a community for you? For me, one of them is finding a place that sells a food item I can become obsessed with and eat constantly. In Paris, it was crepes from a street vendor. In Montreal, it was smoked meat and custard tarts. In Toronto, it's a hundred different things. Chicken sandwich from Terri's Garden. Gyros from Messini. Roti from a shop in Scarborough.

Another one is finding a street I love to walk on. What about you? I'm dying to hear about your life there.

Speaking of roti, the one in the fridge is calling to me. So I go. I'll keep you posted on the whereabouts of my self-restraint.

Bye for now. I miss you. I almost cried when I read your sign-off, 'cause that how I sign off too.

Love you.

Love, me. :)