Springtime is brimming with novelty, and my brain is beginning to ache.
Growing pangs, though, I think.
And my days have been filled, and work is going good, and I had the time last week to go rollerblading in my old neighbourhood, from my parents' house all the way to my sister's old high school.
She used to go that route every day, but we had to sit down for a rest after the first third of the trajet, though that's going to change.
Assuming I figure out how to manage my time.
Yesterday I tried to do the same thing that I did last year, last year I woke up early, went sugaring off with the goth kids, then raced straight to Chris' celebratory "I finally got a kidney" barbecue, and then off to dancing wildly at the goth club.
Yesterday, I went out to lunch with the goths, went shopping with Justin and demolished the Toys'R'Us, bought ammunition for my nerf gun, pads for rollerblading, a bubble-blowing swiss-army-knife to play with at the barbecue, and a bright turquoise tank-top to match my thong.
The tank-top was from the mall across the street, but anyway.
We took the scenic route to Chris', the first of the summer sun pouring in through the windows.
We ate. We played tag. I spurred the "old people" off their seats in the backyard into chasing Chloe and I around the grass.
Mich ended up with grass stains running the length of his jeans, but they only brought out the brilliant emerald of his eyes.
Rememebr Mich? He was The Most Beautiful Man In The World.
He still is. Brilliant Space Agency engineer, but he knows more about poetry and philosophy than I can hope to learn in the next ten years.
And he's single. And interested. And I had to give that some serious thought, but the temptation was just that. Temptation.
Then off to the Gary Numan concert, I missed most of the people that I'd wanted to hug at the barbecue for the show, and I'm a little riled because the show bit.
Ass.
Major ass biting.
He was so far gone that his corset was sagging, and yet the eyeliner was there, and the attitude, and he said nary a word to the audience throughout the show, yet he stopped to lick his guitar with pretentious lasciviousness enough times for us to be hoping for a nice wet electrocution.
Needless to say, I was rather disappointed.
And he never played Angel Wars. Maybe that's what riled me the most. I really wanted to hear "Angel Wars".
Off to the club after that, but I couldn't dance.
My brain was full, I was bored, and the momentary upsurge of excitement at seeing the two most beautiful women in the world, Kaff and my princess there, wore off swiftly.
I danced to a couple of songs.
I had an in-depth discussion of Waterloo crypto courses with Olivia who just finished her degree, inquired about my supposed doppleganger -- her roommate, who Stef calls a 19-year-old version of me, (but let me tell you, while we have the same high cheekbones and maniacal grins, she is far prettier than daily doses of the gym will ever take me near) and sat for a while in silence.
I couldn't get comfortable.
I couldn't sit still, but I couldn't dance, and I couldn't think straight enough to talk.
Friday night's foray into Chinatown was fun, the monstre was out in full force cajoling women into talking about their breasts and doing puzzles with matchsticks.
But the evening drained me nonetheless, all those new faces, all those people, friendly and sweet and nice and intelligent and motivated and as cool as can be, but all I could think was "I'm having trouble calling the few friends I have left from last year."
Oh I know it's going to be a delightful summer.
I'm just having a hard time seeing it all yet.
But Ben called this morning and something in his blissfully caring voice made it all okay. Happy Birthday, Ben. May this year be as happy for you as you make early morning phone calls for me. And congratulations, eh. ;)
I'm a little worried is all, about Lucky who returned from the protests in Quebec with burn marks and a scar that he isn't ready to show us yet, about the direction that my values are heading in, about what I'm looking for in the future, about why I was so damned miserable in that bar last night.
Maybe I just need some space again. Or maybe a cell phone really would help shoulder some of the disappointment that people have been expressing in me lately.
I've had some alone time today, in betwixt lunch with the boys who I never get to see enough but who revitalize me every time we have spare seconds enough to speak or hug or exchange laughter more whole-hearted than anything I've ever been able to emulate.
I had a talk with my grandmother at the hospital, and I learned her maiden name for the first time, and looked at her with strangely virgin eyes, suddenly realizing that she had a life too...
All this adult chatter, all this newness, and two little redheaded girls so disappointed in me because I couldn't make it to throw them in the grass.
But I'm learning.
I just need to breathe sometimes, and I'm sorry if sometimes I just need to be alone enough to think.