You might think I'm crazy, but I'm still in love with you

Feeling better about being back now that I’m in my apartment and seeing my beautiful, lovely Lexie cat again. Oh, with her darling twitchy ears and constant demands for attention. So cheerful now I think I'm ready to stop being angry with Little G for fucking me over with the keys. Also, there's no trace of the films that the poor rental place left all those messages with me about. Hopefully she brought them back - but if there are late charges waiting for me . . . no, no, time to chill and be happy. Things are quite, quite happy at the moment. Quite happy!

Gross big pile of mail when I finally got in – besides delicious and nutritious cheques and some back issues of the Economist, rien d’interet sauf invitations for Miss T’s shower and wedding. Some Ottawa/Montréal action approaching in the future then. I suppose it had to come sometime. Miss T’s young man is a mathematician. Apart from Miss S, I don’t know any mathematicians; certainly I don’t know any boy mathematicians. To hear some girls talk, they’re the ultimate antidote to the cosmetics culture our physical insecurities keep in motion; apparently you don’t even have to wash your hair, and they gaze at you like a 14 year old vegetarian at frying bacon. Mmmm. Bacon.

Anyways, seems like everyone is getting married or procreating or something these days, loads of ladies at work have one in the oven; yesterday we had a ‘baby shower’ over lunch for the HR/admin head, who is due to pop any moment. You know who catered it? Swiss Chalet.

Swiss Chalet sucks.

Food in Canada can suck. I mean SUCK. I miss Italy. I miss France. I even miss Oxford. Yeah, you read that right. I even miss Oxford. At least they had clotted cream and lemon curd. Mmm, and gingersnaps and fresh plump raspberries. Mmmmmmmm.