Last night, after I finished agreeing with Matt about the rain stopping and summer ending, and how sad it all was, I stepped out onto the street, and was met by a gust of wind. It cut through my clothes and skin, wound its way between my veins, found my bones, and froze them. I smiled. It felt good to feel cold again. Summer is an illusion; it warps one’s vision and sense of time. And though it can be terribly luxurious and comfortable, it isn’t real. To feel the chill, to know that one must act to stay alive, that is what’s real.
I can’t wait for winter.

I woke up this morning to find the rain had ended, the sun had some out, and it was a perfect 23 degrees. I was conscious at eleven, but I stayed in bet until two, watching a delightful Woody Allen movie on TV and nibbling on dark chocolate. I was alone, my mom having gone out for work hours earlier. I snuggled down into the blankets, laughed, and thought I am the luckiest girl in the world!

I took my time showering and getting ready. My mom’s apartment is tiny, but just the right size for one person. It made me think of some fabulous Sex and the City lifestyle, a tiny apartment for a girl who can’t afford any bigger, as she spends all her money on shoes. I wished for one just like it, for myself, only in downtown Toronto.

Once I left the apartment, I came to realize just how gorgeous it was outside. Once I got to the city centre, I decided to get a hamburger from a street vendor (and these things are unlike any hamburger you’ve ever had, they are like heaven on earth) and explore the city.

I walked aimlessly in whatever direction looked most appealing at the time. It’s the first time I’ve ever really looked at this city, and it is beautiful. They’ve changed a lot of street names in recent years, removing all remnants of the Communist era, and replacing them with the names of monarchs and poets. I used to live on the Boulevard of the Revolution, and despite what that sign says, I always will. The streets are beautiful, and old, and dirty, and depressed, and elated. They are precious, and I love them.

I listened for a while to a trio of North American aboriginals singing and dancing in the street. I studied their faces for a long time, trying to see if they were merely Gypsies in costume, but their noses were too wide: They were the real thing.

They’re playing Evanescence in the cyber café as I type. It has been a perfect day.

Impressions of the Motherland

Grandma: You want some sugar in your coffee?
Vit: No, my daughter says that's bad for your health. All that white stuff is bad: Sugar, flour...
Nik: Cocaine...

Thanks to "the evil ifluence of rotten capitalism," the city is cleaner and more beutiful than I ever remembered it being. They've re-done the many of the major streets, including the one my grandparents live one, seperating space for cars from space for pedestrians, and replacing concrete with tiles and brick. It looks terribly lovely, especially since the trees and flowers are in bloom. And, becuase it's been raining for days, it looks tragic.

That big "family reuinion" will take place this Saturday, and word is that we've managed to round up about seventy relatives to attend. After that, I'll be going to Bela Crkva to see my mom's family for a few days.

My mom and I are getting along a lot better than last winter: I feel like we're actually communicating as human beings, rather than just going shopping so that she can buy my love.

I am growing fat on cake and ice cream. I would be happy, were my brain not filled with the problems of Torontonians.