Is it Sunday already? Somehow it feels like it should still be the middle of the week. I don't quite know why, but I feel startled to discover that for the majority of people who work regular weeks, it's back-to-work-day only tomorrow. For me it doesn't matter so much, but I am sort of amazed that January is almost over and the milk in my fridge is set to go off in only a matter of a couple of days. On the 28th, the house will turn over to the new owners with whom Stew and I have had fewer than twenty words. They (the future owners, who live below us now) accidentally locked their little kitten out in the foyer (a common problem for the people who used to live below). The kitten is adorable ! It is still tiny, and very fluffy, and at that stage where it really only mews and purrs. I knocked on the neighbours' door and when they opened it I presented them with their kitty. I got more words out of them than ever before: "Thank you, oh thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you !" I smiled and went back upstairs.

Last night, having no plans whatsoever and nothing that needed doing, I rekindled my friendship with Becca, whom I had not spoken to in several months. She's doing well and we had a long, fun conversation. I told her about Scarlette's demise and she reminded me that " all Subarus go to heaven". I envisioned a place full of muddy tracks and dirt roads and snowbanks where hundreds of multi-coloured Subaru four-wheel-drive wagons were low gearing over and through the obstacles... in driverless bliss. I like the image. I can see Scarlette grinding along pitted country roads and having the time of her unlife.

I also watched, finally, Depeche Mode: One Night in Paris, the DVD that Tracy gave me over a year ago. It took this long to watch it because I haven't really had the time or something, but I used Stew's laptop and curled up in my bed. There were some technical difficulties, the dvd drive either having spasms or overheating, or something, and I had to pause the playback every other song. This allowed me to do a lot of talking on the phone, so it was okay and happily, the last six songs played through very smoothly and I was removed to another time, in the company of Tracy, where we saw the same concert here in Toronto. It was lovely. And sexy. I've said it before, I'll say it again, but there is no man on Earth sexier than Dave Gahan. In fact, my biggest complaint was that there wasn't enough of his dancy goodness. Anyway, I went to a very happy place. So, belatedly, thank you, Tracy, your gift is fantastic.

My inner child is ten years old!

The adult world is pretty irrelevant to me. Whether
I'm off on my bicycle (or pony) exploring, lost
in a good book, or giggling with my best
friend, I live in a world apart, one full of
adventure and wonder and other stuff adults
don't understand.


How Old is Your Inner Child?
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