kicking rocks, working, home

Toronto in the spring is a damp, somewhat bleak place. There's little pockets of warmth that make the agonizing crawl into summer a little more bearable. Bakery doors on the walk to the subway, the underground paths between all of the buildings downtown, the inevitability of running into anyone and everyone in this small town masquerading as a city. My room at home has shuffled around and changed over the years, but it's very rarely gotten thinner. I just keep stacking new memories on top of the old. Doilies on finished books, magazine clippings on clippings, etc. This is the original postcard wall, although the new one felt much more in tune with who I am now. I'd be doing an injustice to the work my previous selves if I changed the way my home wall is after all of these years though, so ancient magazine clippings it is. Being a working woman is a blessing (a small part of that being that it keeps me out of my time-capsule room), and a curse on the little free time I have. If the…