Finished another brutal day at work with a Yoga class to ease the stiffness in my muscles and the aches in my bones. Ventured to a (not so) distant part of town for fine Indian cuisine and lovely company with a friend that I realize no longer fits into the "new" category. Chilled for a bit in one of the cutest apartments I've ever seen, she fits in the "new" category but that in no way detracts from her company. Came home to warmth and found myself listening to some laid back beats. I am not my job. My intensively prolific reading period is waning a bit, but I think it's more because of being busy than a lack of interest. I just want to devour stacks of books. My life plans these days rarely coalesce into anything remotely coherent and can range from the sublime (let's fuck off to the himalayas and breath thin, snowy air) to the ridiculous (I want to be a housewife when I grow up).

Anyway, I'm developing a really profound relationship with food. Before it was kind of like new lovers suddenly excited to sniff each other behind the ears and spend entire weekends just tangled in sheets and sweat. And now we're like a wedded powerhouse, partners that finish each other's sentences, tangling our weathered fingertips in a union so profoundly understood we don't have to say a word. Food, I love you, you give me purpose in being. And I'm coming to a point where I really want to start giving thanks before a meal, because I really am grateful to be able to eat all the mindblowingly delicious things that I do. Why not? We should look at each meal like an experience, something to savor and to be thankful to have.

I'm also getting a bit curious about hunting, which is hilarious. If anyone knows me, slender, itsy-bitsy me, and my lack of wilderness expertise, I am sure you would find it quite hysterical to image me silently skulking through a forest with nothing but a shotgun, my wits, and an empty stomach. But I think that there's something almost necessary about killing a living thing by your own hand and then consuming it. Now that is eating. That is developing respect. The meat industry has completely removed me from the whole process of understanding where your food comes from.

I toy with the idea of vegetarianism. I do. But it's the bacon. It's always the bacon.

Anyway, I'll leave you with some videos for your perusal. Good things. Good beats. Something to warm the most frigid cockles of the iciest hearts.

I am secretly grateful to Ortega Cartel for reminding me why I love Montreal. In my desperation to leave, it's something that I so very quickly forget.