September 8, 1999.

As of today, my parents have been married for 26 years. They still get along pretty well...it's not a perfect marriage, but at least they seem relatively content with their lot. At least, that's what I think is going on, and frankly, I have enough problems without trying to solve my parents' marital difficulties (if any).

So...many happy returns, and thanks for deciding to have a child. Even though this site is a secret, I'm sure they got those vibes. Right?

I'm a tired grrl tonight, and it is of course due to mild excess. Namely, a concert by one Miss Tori Amos that convened last night at one of the city's waterfront locales. I've never seen her in concert before, and I'd lost some enthusiasm since buying the ticket (especially since I was unsure how much Alanis I'd have to sit through...don't laugh, it's not funny). Usually at concerts I dance around, sing, sway, grin, scream & clap. Last night I sat stock still & shivered. Her voice, her piano went straight to my spinal chord & played havoc with my skin. I couldn't do anything but sit. When she finished "Famous Blue Raincoat" it was all I could do to keep breathing.

But I did, somehow. Fortunately, there were always pauses for recollection and spaces to bring myself in again. That I needed to do so says worlds.

The way home wasn't as joyous; by then my pink-girl-with-butterflies head had wilted from cute as a button to washed out. It was all I could do to wear my butterflies with pride as I walked through a humanless parking lot filled with shadows cast by packed up fair rides. My heart was in my throat the whole time. And when I got to the bus stop, the waiting streetcar pulled away without me. Scary stuff, kids. I thought my number had finally come up.

On the ride up to the subway, I sat across from a tow-headed boy carrying bag upon bag of cotton candy. As passengers would get on, he'd pitch the stuff and giggle. "Anybody wanna buy some cotton candy?...I certainly got enough of it!...Yeah, I could get a good sugar buzz from this...Put it in a pillow tonight & sleep on it..." over & over, always chased by a nervous giggle. His friend (the one in a matching black polo shirt) warned him softly to buy a ticket home before he wasted his money on other things. I started to feel like I'd stepped into "Of Mice & Men," the late night Toronto version, and wondered miserably if this kid needed help. But, like any city dweller, I didn't ask questions, just walked away & held off crying 'til I got home.

I need to get out of the area. Memories of the city are eating me alive; being in it is a nightmare of depression. Even without the locals.