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<-- my life, by webgoddesscathy -->
:: Thursday, February 09, 2006 ::
It's finally winter.
Flakes of snow blowing around, icy sidewalks, sharp winds blowing down your jacket.
And I chose today to go for a walk with Sarah?
It was wonderful.
I bundled up, wearing my big ski jacket and I twirled the big, soft scarf my friend crocheted for me around my neck and face about three times. I even put away the fleece gloves in favour of the Christmas fleece mitts. If I'd just worn my heavy duty winter hiking boots, I would have been fine.
But no, I decided to wear my regular nice brown shoes because they went with my brown cords. I know: ridiculous! And I paid for it with cold toes.
But we warmed up at Sarah's after a two-hour urban hike and she made a yummy, healthy dinner for us.
And I'm sure it seemed like I hadn't spoken to anyone in days because such a stream of verbal diarrhea poured from my mouth that I feared I wouldn't ever stop.
I love to talk and I actually don't get much chance. I mean, what with sitting in front of a computer all day, my extremely talkative boyfriend and sitting in front of the computer many nights, I don't really have much opportunity.
That's why it was really great to talk to my friend Raye earlier this week, even though she's having a bit of a rough time and did most of the talking. It felt good to just be there for her.
I must admit, I'm rather bad about staying in touch with my friends sometimes. I don't like that. I love my friends and want to be more communicative and active with them. With many people, however, I'm usually the one who makes all the effort and it starts to wear on me after a while. But it's worth it - friends make life worth it.
:: Cathy 7:13 PM [+] :: 0 comments
:: Tuesday, February 07, 2006 ::
The TTC never fails to surprise me with their lack of ability to respond to a crisis.
This morning, after hearing on the radio that the subway was closed from York Mills to Bloor, I figured I'd have to take one of the "shuttle" buses that were running down Yonge St.
Now, it should be known that there are ALWAYS buses running down Yonge Street.
So I watched as bus after bus passed by without even stopping because they were too full. Good times. Strike one.
So I walked down to Eglinton Station, thinking to catch a bus across Eglinton and get on the University line. I enter Eglinton and hear a subway running down below. Interesting - why wasn't there any signage letting people know that the subway was running again? Strike two.
So I go down to the subway platform. After 10 minutes, an empty subway train passes the packed platform. Five minutes later, another train stops, packed at the doors, and in the middle of the car, jackasses leisurely reading their paper with 5 body lengths between them and the next person. We wouldn't want them to catch a cold by touching the person next to them, now, would we?
Denied. Wait for the next train.
The next train is also full, but by now people need to get on ANY train and don't care if they need to body surf to do it. Caught near the doors, I am carried along by the push from behind into the car. People inside shoot me dirty looks. Because apparently they're too precious to stand in the middle. They need to be closer to the door so that they can get out 20 stops down the road. Grr.
Strike three, four, five?
Seriously, the TTC knows exactly how much traffic they have at that time of the morning. Surely, they could have made a little better effort at getting people to work. This is their JOB and people depend on them for it.
To be fair, it's not just the TTC that upsets me, it's the people. It's the prim little middle manager in the centre of the car, standing arm's length away from the next person, who lives in Richmond Hill in a huge house, got on at Finch station and whose taxes don't even pay for him to use MY transit system but who will readily deny me access if it means his suit won't get wrinkled.
Jerk. Get off my train or start paying for it.
:: Cathy 6:31 AM [+] :: 3 comments
:: Monday, February 06, 2006 ::
Day One of my vow not to eat pastries: miserable failure.
Pastries eaten: 3.
Number of backs that feel better after eating said pastries, despite this being the convincing reason for such indulgence: 0
Must get back to remedy-producing drawing-board.
Number of smiles produced in past 10 minutes by smelling my yellow roses: 2
Must peace-keeping flowers still smell so sweet? Would prefer holding valiant passionate grudge instead of having insides turned to girly mush by oldest trick in the book.
:: Cathy 6:50 PM [+] :: 0 comments
I am old.
Well, I mean, let's check the symptoms:
Clearly I am old.
I was running on the treadmill on Saturday and suddenly my back just screamed "I'M DONE - STOP!" and just... well, freaked out. I can barely walk or sleep or sit. Very uncomfortable.
So that lady hobbling down the road at a meter per hour? Ya, that's probably me.
:: Cathy 6:35 PM [+] :: 0 comments