Ethiopian coffee culture arrives in Toronto by way of the Rift Valley.
On craving “…the same innocent enchantment I had when I was a reader of twelve or thirteen…”
I haven’t received the first ‘NO’ yet, but I’m sure it’s comin’, any day now. So I make sure to do my stretches regularly, the better to be limber enough to spring right back up after I receive the first of many smackdowns to come.
…because I want to look amazing when he next sees me (never mind he does not want me and when I am thinking clearly I don’t want him either)
As I enjoy this period of contentment and insight, I cannot help but feel that the worst is yet to come.
I resume journaling at the end of a relationship. Usually that’s when I realize all that was wrong with the relationship…I can’t help but think that this abandoning of journaling, as soon as I am coupled with a man, is a form of abandoning myself.
To no one’s surprise, my ten-years-ago self continues to wallow in her post-breakup misery, in this latest instalment of my diary entries from back in the day. I’ve turned to religion, as you’ll see. Even made up my own little prayer. On the plus side, this entry contains an exquisite paragraph from one of my …
Once I came near humiliation when I was going to go straight to his house one morning. But I stopped myself in time. I hate the fact that I need to write all this down.