Twenty-three years of eating cake!

I am waiting until midnight to post this blog!

first blog as a 23-yr-old whoooo yowza!!!

A fabulous weekend has just passed, wherein I went "home" (so hard to pin down that wily word these days) and enjoyed a happy drive with my dearest friend Derek, a magnificent meal with M/B/A/D/A, and pretty much the best Saturday of all time heading back to Dundalk and seeing The Sound of Music on the good ol' Dundalk Little Theater stage, starring the beautiful, the talented, and the beautifully talented Ingrid who then hosted an equally beautiful (and talented) soiree afterwards, avec handsome husband and equally handsome stepson Noah. Walking from the Town Hall to Ingrid and Ian's place reminded me of how much I miss Dundalk, and want to live there again. I could hardly believe, when we drove into town, that it was all still there; the Farm Supplies store where I once timidly handed over a resume (and didn't get the job), the train tracks where I went for countless walks with my dear old dog Meg (and Ingrid with dear not-so-old Tia), the lion statue that I used to climb on in the parkette... I know it would never be the same if I moved back there one day, but at least it would be more the same than anywhere else. Being somewhere that familiar then returning to somewhere this strange is like slipping from hot to cold weather in seconds. Causes anxiety, shivers, nosebleeds. Each time I'm in Dundalk again I notice one or two small differences, and eventually those differences will be too overwhelming, and that's what I'm worried about! The critical mass of difference! This time I noticed that the Smoke Shop is now called the Daisy Mart... this is both bad (ahhhh! change! cover your eyes!) and good (now the short story I just wrote isn't quite as much of a blatant copy of my hometown). Other things remain the same, though, like the giant outdoor mural of the Last Supper painted on the side of the Smoke-Shop-Turned-Daisy Mart. These are the details I'll cling to as I make my too-infrequent trips back, sniffing around for roots with my scent on them like a ribby dog.



On a completely unrelated note... Here is Bronwyn's floating head - and a lot of booze! (Is there a connection??)


And here is some cake!!! And some Derek!


And, because he is devastatingly handsome (especially after our brief separation), here is a Tycho from precisely one minute ago. I am also celebrating his birthday now, since I don't know when his actual birthday is (but don't tell him that!!!)


So - nearly midnight now, and I'm nearly asleep ... OH MY GOD I'M GETTING OLD! I feel like I need to do something memorable right now. Something to mark my last moments as a 22-year-old. In the hours before I turned thirteen (back in the Dunalk years!) I wrote a letter to my future sixteen-year-old self listing all the things I hoped to make happen in those three intermittent years. I sealed the letter and taped it to the underside of a dresser drawer and tried to forget what was on it, which apparently worked, because now, ten years later, the only thing I remember writing for sure was something like "Have my first true kiss." And look what happened! My high school should have been wrapped in caution tape. Tonight on the CBC Review I heard Shelagh Rogers interviewing Margaret Atwood, and they were laughing about the hyperbolic torment of high school romances. Atwood was trying to make the point that we change our personal histories as we grow older, and now we laugh about our very first break-up which, at the time, made us cry and write sad, solipsisitic poetry for weeks (secretly Megan thinks: who's laughing?). Then Shelagh Rogers said that she was always the one getting dumped, never the one doing the dumping! Aw! I wanted to give her a hug! Although if I had been standing there in the studio, arms open, I might have had a moment of reconsideration because Shelagh is all snifflysick right now. I might have offerred her a Kleenex instead. Atwood was her usual self, quite eager to talk about how much she hates interviews while clearly enjoying herself at the same time. If I have to hear Atwood's long and boring explication of that LongPen thingymajigger (which was an entirely uninvited explication, and I think I even sensed something like impatience in Shelagh's raspy voice) one more time... and this isn't just jealous-talk! Atwood seriously drives me crazy in-person-on-the-radio. My grams, the most well-read person I know by a long shot and a long-time Atwood opposer, would probably agree (and be glad that I'm done with my mad-about-Cat's Eye stage). I just wish she would add some cadence to her voice, learn to be patient with her admirers, and stop mentioning every second how incredibly busy she is with her world-wide book tours!!!! Hm - maybe this is jealousy talking. I suppose she's just being who she is, and that's a good thing. But Alice Munro is still better, in-person-on-the-radio and in writing. In fact, if you want to hear her, you can go here and subscribe in iTunes. There's an interview with her & Shelagh Rogers from October 18th! Alice Munro, why can't you fit in my pocket so I can take you everywhere with me?

Okay... better go get busy with being 23! I'm going to spend tomorrow in happy bliss, just Tycho and I and some really good books... Thursday is when the requisite party happens, so if you are a Montrealite and want to join us on the town, let me know and I will email you the details!

That's all! This is Megan, signing out for the last time as a 22-year-old! See you when I'm older!