This super-people-oriented weekend was vividly bittersweet, as it was the first free of the thesis but the last free one for awhile - the next one is the family (but I'm still up for disco Saturday, Lady), and then a series of three weekend trips for more family and wedding showers. I have Orfeo tickets for Easter weekend - not sure Gigi will be able to make that; will you, Cali? I'm thinking that makes for a good excuse for staying in Toronto and relaxing for four days together, then celebrating Jesus's resurrection in Northern Ontario the next weekend when the chocolate goes on sale.
By relaxing I mean, of course, smoking reefer and cooking. (Although weighing instant pain against possible pain, I've switched to butter which has made my habit much more portable. . . 'It's just fortified, Daddy.') Yesterday Luke Duke and I went to Little India; I found a curry paste which has stolen my heart - Hanif's Green Masala. Before tumbling into dreamland last night I put together a dish with the pollock and vegetables I had sitting around, and it makes me want to come. I actually want to go to work just so I can wait for lunch and eat this bit of coriander-drenched paradise.
What I need, however, is some time - at least a free evening - to Spliffify the Cornish pasty. I can't really complain about Cornish pasties, they can be beautiful things, but I feel an urgent need to add to the canon. The prospect of a free evening, however, is a distant one - like next Sunday. Work's for the birds . . . for the birds, man . . . why do I work?