Cintry mouse

Planning my two-month-long trip back to Canada. Truth be told, and this has never really happened before because I've always visited from big cities before, I'm fucking jazzed today on how I'll get to spend lots of time in cities this trip. A weekend in Sydney with the F-word on the way, a week in Vancouver, and lots of Toronto time. I fucking love Toronto. Or at least I did back in the days it wasn't fascist - we'll see what it's like now. My god, I'm going to eat like a fucking pig. An Asian, Asian pig. And music. I'll go see music. As much music as will fit in my fucking ears.

Especially since if I turn out to be as fertile as I think I am, this may be my last childless visit to Canada. So I'll be self-conscious to get some. You know. Culture. That's not even a metaphor for anything, though I'm sure I'll get high a lot too. Obviously there's no problem getting high in L--- though I'm just not interested here - I'm not a hippy and I refuse to pay that fucking much for a plant - I think it's keeping pace with precious metal commodities per ounce here. But there is a problem getting culture.

In Brussels, we weren't exactly culture hounds, aside from art and architecture, but if we needed taking out of ourselves as we tended to a couple of times a month, it was easy to find something reasonably transcendent.

Here - well. The nature is beautiful. And having taken up running, with its attendant highs and endorphins and sleeping like a fucking baby, makes up for the fact that I can't just fuck off to the opera whenever I like. And I was ready for this, or at least had tried to be - and in any case, I'm about to have weeks and weeks of city time, including a visit to Shanghai in less than a month. So I'd better concentrate on having my cake and eating it too, instead of bemoaning the fact that my mouth isn't big enough to fit in two kinds of cake at once.