passin' me by.

Woke up, it was a Sunday morning..



There are few things this girl loves more than Sundays. Sunday in the summer-time in Winnipeg always meant meeting my best girls and boys for a bike ride & breakfast, comparing whose hangover is worse than whose and endlessly smoking cigarettes on the Nook patio. The perfect place to sit so we can not only enjoy the warm prairie sunshine, but also so we can check out the cute Wolesely-ites on their fixed gear bicycles. Okay, mostly so we can check out the cute Wolesely-ites on their fixed gear bicycles. Wellington Crescent would carry us to Assinaboine Park (Cough. Ass Park.)where we would drink afternoon beer and do yoga on the grass with the low rumble of a drum circle under a bridge in the distance (I always came home with the best grass stains.).

I may not yet have acquired a Sunday morning routine here yet, but give me a break, I've only been here a month. With three perfectly pleasant Sundays in Toronto under my belt before today, the fourth is shaping up to be simply delightful. With Joni & Janis keeping me company in bed instead of the usual revolving door of rappers, I am slowly but surely working up the energy to clean my apartment & eventually get out the door for breakfast.

In a city where brunch is the new black, my options are limitless.

On my way home this Sunday morning from a very long and busy turned blissful Saturday, I grabbed a coffee & a paper and made my to my own little love nest. In a sea of egyptian cotton soon to be smeared with newspaper print, I wrote in my journal, caught up with an old friend over the telephone, and wrote this blog. Between work & whatever else, I haven't been here much this weekend and I'm happy to say that I'm happy to be home. Home.

With four days worth of Law & Order: Special Victims Unit on my PVR, my afternoon is shaping up to be perfect. Indulgent, even. I know I've got things to do; I've got somewhere between 4 and 6 rolls of film to be developed and I've got lemon curd clinging to every orifice of my kitchen but to be perfectly honest, I simply don't care.

Sigh, Elliot Stabler does it to me every time.