I walked out this morning in my linen pants and orange golf shirt in the 11°C weather. The sun was just over the horizon and a light fog was in the air, washing everything in a thin orange haze. It was so refreshing to be cold again, to see my breath hang heavy in the air. Maybe I was just hyper from exhaustion, but it felt as if nothing could possibly be wrong on a day like this.

The saturday morning ritual is as follows:

8:00 am — Wake up, get dressed, search change tin for $5.18 sandwich money
8:15 am — Leave apartment for table tennis practice, listen to Billy Talent’s self titled debut album on the way there
9:00 am — Arrive at club, play for two hours, lose half of body weight in sweat
11:00 am — Curse how fast the time went by, leave club, listen to Thrice’s Artist in the Ambulance album on the way back
11:30 am — Arrive at Centre, purchase roast beef sandwich at Michelle’s Baguette. If answering “please” to every topping suggestion, the person will go in the back and get the freshest lettuce leaves
12:00 pm — Arrive home, put on boring television to fill silence but not distract too much from the sandwich, savour multi-layered taste of roast beef on freshly baked poppy seed bread with lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, and mayo, thank the gods of lemon iced tea
12:15 pm — Shower
12:25 pm — Go back to sleep