And Furthermore...

• Seems everyone's been bitchin' 'bout the weather this morning. -37, they say, as if shocked by such chill here in the Great White North. (Some, honest enough to mention that includes wind-chill.) Me? I kissed Laura goodbye, hopped on the ol' bicyclette an' passed streetcars (of course, stopping for those unfortunates getting on and off) on my way to the office.
  
  Chilluns', if the chimneys ain't blowin' smoke straight up, it ain't that cold.


• Arrogant braggadicio aside, my body is pretty sore.
  
  Yesterday saw me work-out for the first time in a while, then entertain Laura (as only she demands to be entertained), before we hied ourselves along Queen to a friend's new apartment (he just in from Ottawa, finally braving the big city at the ripe young age of 34). Another wannabe writer, he had a lot of stuff, including a god damned 52-inch teevee, a ridiculously over-sized couch no doubt bought cheap from a bankrupt Nevada whorehouse and box after box of books.
  
  After which, all five of us found ourselves at a restaurant for a bite, then Laura and I retired to my humble abode, where she insisted I read to her from my collected (if unfinished) works.
  
  Oh! the humanity!


• My mother is selling what's left of my childhood homestead - a small house and nine acres of bush. I am trying to figure out whether I can swing a mortgage.


• I've got 5 days off over Saturnalia (hats off to beable, whose most recent post made me giggle) but, because all travelling plans fell through, I will be on call that week as well as this, carrying a pager with me, wherever I do go.


• I am exhausted. Two (or is it three) nights of broken sleep and vivid dreams will do that to a feller, even one as young as myself.


• I still like beer.


• This is a hideously pointless post. I'll stop now.