july 12, 2001. Day 3 of skipping breakfast. This is no longer fun. First thing in the morning I have to climb 3 flights of stairs to get to the office, and my famished unbreakfasted body has started to ache during these moments. But I enjoy my lunch a heck of a lot more. There's always that. Last night was rather excellent in a low-key and non-demanding sort of way. First there was dinner at Hermione & Iris'...and lord, what a dinner. From the way people were raving about our party last week, I knew that we had passed some kind of a high watermark in terms of effort. And although I honestly wanted everyone to be at perfect ease in my house, I was also proud to have impressed. Last night was the fallout from this week: a full turkey dinner with all the trimmings. Dessert was a choice between freshly baked blueberry torte and freshly picked strawberries with homemade whipped cream. Even the gravy was made from scratch. I'm unsure if this dinner group has spun out of control. Perhaps we're just really enjoying the whole process of entertaining. I hope so, because when we're back to burgers and sausages at my house, I don't want everyone disappointed because the last meal was escargot. After the meal we sat around talking shop, as is our wont. The conversation became even more insular when Iris and Ikebana started to reminisce about taking their science degrees at Mount A. Every once in awhile I would interject a comment about my literature undergrad, which I admit was a completely useless and boring thing to do. It's just that when I'm in a room full of science degrees, I need to say something about literature. I just gotta. I'll whither & die otherwise, drowned in a series of remarks about biology and chemistry. Ikebana drove me home to my copy of American Gods, which I have been devouring this week. So, so good. I can barely stop to eat or sleep or work, I just do those things when I absolutely have to. It's a torrid relationship and it's sure to end badly. Once I finish the book, there will only be disappointment and hurt feelings. The plot will lodge in my brain, but never call me. I'll end up drunk in the Odd Book, looking for a quick replacement. It won't be pretty. Oh wait! I'm partway through Joshua Then And Now. I can always go back to Mordecai when Neil gives me the boot. So that's okay. Pick up the pieces, baby. I cry on your shoulder, you pick up the pieces. Ahem. When I got home there were the usual tasks waiting for me, which I shamefully ignored. My entire life's mission had funnelled down into uploading last night's entry and lying down with American Gods - and of course I was thwarted. Aren't we all. Still, it was a good night. I talked to my dad a couple of times, and in-between our phone calls he booked me a flight home at the end of August. Very exciting. In honour of this development, I once again dreamed of going out at night in Toronto and suddenly realizing that I didn't have any cool clothes. (I have this dream a lot.) The best part about the dream was that when I went downstairs into the club, a whole host of people were waiting for me. They were there to celebrate my return: Little Spider, Akasha, Mr. Shoreleave, the Maxx, Big Daddy Longlegs and another guy who I took as Little Spider's new man. Mr. Shoreleave gave me a present. All was beautiful and wholesome until I woke up and realized that none of it had happened. More to the point, none of it is likely to happen: I probably won't see most of those people for years, and none of them (save Little Spider) like me very much now. And as to the general anxiety of the dream, I've spent many a night on Queen Street West dressed preppie or sloppy or just wrong. Bad clothes wont keep me away. But they might slow me down for a fraction of a second, before my joy at being home overtakes my ridiculous narcissism. this time 3 years ago: a weekend that made me want to scream