goodness gracious me.

on the eve of my vacation/adventure/ridiculousness, i sit in my muggy room, and to the soundtrack of a whirling ceiling fan, multi-task away my last friday night in toronto for three weeks.

tomorrow evening i am off to cannes, to soak in sun, sand and, well, the bizarre cultural experience that it is -- a beautiful shell of a town, constantly filled and refilled with various conferences and festivals. post-that, well who knows, really. i don't seem to at the moment - as usual, my chronic indecision has left a decidedly large question mark smack in the middle of my travel itinerary. i seem to see saw between berlin and budapest, possibly because "b" words roll of the tongue so well. sleepy burnt out lethargy might get the best of me though, so it's possible i'll just lie on the beach, gazing vacantly at the ocean for a few days.

and then london, my old flame - the city i longed for last year, for a short time, of course.

last, but certainly least glamorous, is regina, saskatchewan, where i will interview locals in dusty bars and empty fields. about beer. life is journal-worthy at the moment, i must admit. so why am i dawdling on writer's block?