August 10, 1999.

I've been 23 for 39 hours. I must say, I don't feel 17 anymore, which used to be my thing in the last couple of years. Maybe it's from being around so many genuine 17 year olds. Maybe it's having a chequebook & a futon & a scrip for the Pill and a B.A. Dunno.

As far as foresight goes, I saw Cranly on Friday afternoon. We talked for an hour while the Boy slept on my lap. I think that's a great fucking omen for this coming year. Maybe I'll stop twisting things into insoluble knots for once.

It's been a really great 48 hours. On Sunday night the Boy & I wandered over to Isa's unit with champagne and listened to her husband talk about their trip across Italy ("it's my destiny to be followed by cats fucking.") On Monday we went for a birthday ramble/picnic to Centre Island. And today we had a big lunch and a nap. All good ways to spend some stray hours.

I haven't been to Centre Island since I turned 16. I really haven't been a lot of places in those years...for whatever reason, I rarely get away from my desk, someone else's living room, overpriced Toronto shops of wonder or a dance floor. Centre Island seems to be quite comfortable taking over the young family niche left bare by places like Wonderland, and it's relaxing to get away from crowds of posturing teens. The only downside is the exposure to simply abominable parenting techniques from a wide variety of folks. I know, I know, spinsters have the best children and where do I get off criticizing people I know nothing about. I have no defense, except that if you were there you'd have cringed and walked out of the lineup too.

Other than that, it was brilliant. I blissed out the whole day on sun, turkey sandwiches and old clattery rides. We played skeeball for a quarter until we had enough tickets for a pink whistle and a sticker of a disgruntled swan. Perhaps not coincidentally, the Boy drive a giant plaster swan for the first time in his life. Little piglets ran around the petting zoo & refused to come near. I took another crack at the Haunted Barrel Ride & screamed until it was over. The Scrambler was 'a trip to a magical land of sound & nausea.' I've never ever been so happy at an amusement park. It was awesome.

The dance party was slightly less than awesome. Don't get me wrong, the music was typically great. Unfortunately, no one was there but the Boy and myself. This is exactly why I try not to get too emotionally involved in planning outings, because every once in awhile the Kitty Genovese effect will kick in.

Nobody went because everybody else was going. But the music was still good.

And eventually Fast Eddie & his exgirlf showed up, which is like getting a present from coincidence (or as the Flake would say, from a million angels pulling strings). I love Eddie...he's such an intense experience, but sooo funny. Five minutes in his company make me laugh for days.

We ended up swinging by res to say goodbye to St. Jack, who'll be pursuing his masters in another city soon. I'll miss him a lot...we'd grown quite close during the first half of summer, in effect making the distance that had been pushing us apart disappear. I just wish the scene hadn't taken place in the room of 2 strange stewardesses...everything felt awkward & weird. I hope that the situation was parlayed into sex for someone other than me, which would redeem the night somewhat.

As for today, it's turning out pretty good (as if you wanted a weather report on the day: today has a 70 percent chance of being good, with some clouding expected when Nic asks if I liked his birthday present, "Nostradamus on Women.")

Ahem. As I was saying, today is shaping up well. My meeting with Prof. S. didn't go off at all, which pushes back my new tattoo an unpredictable amount of time. There was a large lunch eaten, as advertised. But the best thing occurred while I was buying 100 grams of havarti cheese for the 3rd day in a row (don't ask). Thanks to my quick eyes & penchant for cheese, the Boy has been tentatively offered a position in a supermarket 1/2 a block from the Nook.

This makes me sooo happy. Talking to him this summer has been strained and complicated by the fact that he hates hates hates pulling rickshaw and isn't making any money at it. If he gets this job, it'll be the best birthday present I could hope for (although Tom Waits tickets wouldn't be refused (joke, Stacy)).