Dear stomach: please digest all this candy and I'll never ask for anything ever again.

you can't really tell, but Spongebob is wearing a beret on his giant square head, and is going by his French name: "Bob L'éponge carrée". And I won a prize for my "Cloudy with a chance of rain" costume!



It feels funny posting pictures of people who don't even know that I have a blog... is that unethical? Will they find out that I've done this and come after me? Or... stop inviting me to their parties??? Unlikely! But still. I just don't know how you're supposed to spread the word about having a blog. It seems like a narcissistic thing to do. "Hey! What's up? Think your day could use some more Megan? Well - got a pen? Here's a website entirely devoted to her!" I have to admit, I have done a little google-sleuthing on some my favourite people here, and have found one or two blogs which I now read on the sly. Then I feel smug when I'm around them, because they don't know that I have insider information. I let this slip once to my friend Kasper, whose story from a million years ago is published on a website that I found thanks to google gods. The only reason I told him that I had done some searching on his name is that (1) inhibitions were low (and bar tabs were high) and (2) the website that was publishing the story had a little postscript that asked anyone who knew Kasper to please let them know, because they were trying to find him. I thought it was my moral duty to point this out to him! He was very good about it, and only marginally creeped out. But I think he should be flattered. Imagine someone being intrigued enough by you that they are willing to sift through a pile of junky search results in the hopes that they'll find some secret "in" on your life! And besides, as people have often (with the best intentions) pointed out to me, if you put something on the Interwubs, you obviously want people to read it. And whether you admit it or not you probably hope (like me!) that people will do a little grunt work to uncover your secret caché of ramblings! It's like all those famous people who "accidentally" kept amazing diaries which got published after their death (think LM Montgomery, or Kurt Cobain, Susanna Moodie, and about a gazillion others). I'm SURE that these people never once thought, hmmm, I wonder if this will get published someday? I will try and make it as interesting/obscure/controversial/______ as possible, just in case!!!

This is all tied into that question about whether it's possible to write something down without any expectation or hope of someone, other than you, reading it. Admit it! That journal you're keeping? You hope that someone will read it one day, right? Even if it's full of incriminating evidence of your secret life or embarrassing confessions about your private habits... I don't believe you if you say you're only writing it for therapy. I use the "therapy" excuse a lot to explain away the annoyance of that big, pulpy stack of Hilroys sagging on my closet shelf. It's therapy, man! And it's true that my journal-writing peaks when something especially difficult is happening in my life. But really, there's an impulse that is largely informed by the drive to create a legend of the self... a record of existence, an "I Was Here" sticky note left to identify the Megan-shaped hole in the universe for future people to sift through. I want someone to read those someday. Not now! Oh lordy, NOT NOW!!!! but someday. That's why I keep them! Otherwise, I'd write them "for therapy" and then burn them in some kind of therapeutic fire ceremony while reciting therapeutic chants to the stars. I'd have more room in my closet and less emotional baggage staring me in the face. But I like my emotional baggage and I want someone else to know about it someday! Screw therapy and emotional well-being! I want to be interesting!

This has turned into an unwieldy rant, all to say that blogging is rather strange and egotistical (and public) practice, and it's hard to know how to handle that sometimes!

Ah well, soldier ahead. It's sometimes very strange straddling London life and all of its various twists and connections and Montreal life, squeaky-new and still largely unfamiliar. Y'all know me well, while these folks here in M-town continue to know only the bits that I accidentally-on-purpose let out in the open. Unless, of course, they googled me and have been reading this all along! In which case - hi, dudes! It's okay! I probably googled your name, too!

Meanwhile, back on the ranch, D's pumpkin-carving abilities continue to astound, year after year...