Spring Fever
This week I've been waking up before my alarm (sometimes only because of the cat, but it still counts), getting anxious to leave work starting practically at lunchtime (makes the afternoons seem really long), and I have all this weird energy to go do something, but I don't know what it's supposed to be.
Something's gotten into the cat, too. The last 24 hours he's been obsessively licking my toes, rolling around on the floor, and staring into space. I actually did a Google search for "how to know if your cat is on drugs," but surprisingly, it didn't turn up much. I expected at least a humor site.
Last night I walked around central Yaletown looking for a good place to have dinner, and finally decided that it's officially just too yuppy for me.
I've suffered the taunts of friends and coworkers about the little dive places along Granville that I like to eat at, but there's always that nice balance between not having a lineup but still having signs of life (the one Yaletown place that wasn't packed to the gills was utterly empty — even the chef and waitress were sitting outside on the curb sharing a cigarette, and when I walked by they looked at me with pleading eyes to please come interrupt their nothingness, if only for a moment), and the Granville St places don't cost me an arm and a leg, and I never feel underdressed, and they've started to know me when I drop by (this is where the Cheers song starts to fade in behind the voiceover), and all of those make for a cozy evening in my book. Oh, and the food is not bad, either, I guess — that's important sometimes. . . .
Anyway, I've done enough procrastination for this morning. Time to jump in the shower and run to work (presumably getting dressed again in between, but it could make for an interesting day if not. . . .).
Something's gotten into the cat, too. The last 24 hours he's been obsessively licking my toes, rolling around on the floor, and staring into space. I actually did a Google search for "how to know if your cat is on drugs," but surprisingly, it didn't turn up much. I expected at least a humor site.
Last night I walked around central Yaletown looking for a good place to have dinner, and finally decided that it's officially just too yuppy for me.
I've suffered the taunts of friends and coworkers about the little dive places along Granville that I like to eat at, but there's always that nice balance between not having a lineup but still having signs of life (the one Yaletown place that wasn't packed to the gills was utterly empty — even the chef and waitress were sitting outside on the curb sharing a cigarette, and when I walked by they looked at me with pleading eyes to please come interrupt their nothingness, if only for a moment), and the Granville St places don't cost me an arm and a leg, and I never feel underdressed, and they've started to know me when I drop by (this is where the Cheers song starts to fade in behind the voiceover), and all of those make for a cozy evening in my book. Oh, and the food is not bad, either, I guess — that's important sometimes. . . .
Anyway, I've done enough procrastination for this morning. Time to jump in the shower and run to work (presumably getting dressed again in between, but it could make for an interesting day if not. . . .).