Mama said there'd be days like this...

So here I embark on my foray into the blogging world.  Really I'm just doing this so that I don't have to scribble madly in a paper journal, blotting the pages with food scraps and minor paper-cut blood residue.  There's snow on the ground clinging furiously to each piece of grass, refusing to leave only getting harder and more compacted.  

The kids are leaving school now and there's a rush of slamming car doors, stomping feet and children calling.  They get to go home to a bit of freedom, cheeks tinged pink from frosty air and the rush of a sled whispering down a steep hill.

I, however, have a fashionable scarf wrapped around my head with three working pens and a wine key in my back pocket and a black pinstriped blazer situated a little tightly around my ribcage.

There's an itch on my back that I just can't scratch.

We went sledding last night on Suicide Hill, the most brutal hill that one can find in this pancake of a territory.  A man showed up wearing a kilt and a clinging infant.  He had two dogs, one of which looked like a wolf who delighted in chasing me down the hill trying to lick my face.

The sheer velocity of the sled, barreling down hills that literally make you fly in the air, this, this is the intensity I crave in my everyday life.

Tarik and I have decided to treat life like it is, an absolute fucking joke.  Go to work, make the money and then do the prescribed fun things to forget that your life has absolutely no meaning.  We will do things differently.  He is like the male version of myself only with more energy.  I told him we should be rock stars and just save all the money and then flush it into a poverty-stricken country by building schools, hospitals and homes.  The world is here for us to conquer.