Fish on Fridays

Returning to Boston with a dish of fish in tow, I hold onto a lingering bit of residual Catholic guilt and maintain a no-meat-on-Fridays regime during the Lenten season. Half-magic, half-faith, half-idiocy, I was raised in such a fucked-up manner that if eating fish on Fridays is all that remains, I’ll take the quirk and feign healthy living for the judgment of unbelieving heathens. This weekend I’ll be seeing my friend Kira, whom I haven’t hung out with since last year and our Holiday Stroll. (This is one of those mundane, factual posts that is much more exciting to write than I’m guessing it is to read, but since I’m writing it, too bad.)

All of the snow has kept me from the city for longer a stretch than I’ve grown accustomed to – and it’s been sorely missed. I try to return to Boston for a regular dose of civilization, and the past few months have left me bereft of Boston magic. That all changes this weekend, and it will be good to simply walk the snow-ravaged cobblestone with Kira and catch up on all that’s transpired since the calendar year turned over.

I’m also going to prematurely suggest the idea of spring cleaning, just putting it out there into the universe, along with the possibility of some project work too since I’m being all ambitious, but it’s entirely possible, and more than likely, that both will fall by the wayside as I simply ingratiate myself with the city in quiet, non-working fashion. Run on, little/long sentence, run on.

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