is there a twelve-step program for bloggers?

Perhaps - is it possible? - this blog is replacing Goodwill as my primary addiction. Now I am addicted to you.

If this is Wednesday, it must be Carol's class. Another addiction. I have taken Carol's lunchtime runfit class at the Y on Wednesdays for at least 15 years. Carol is a grandmother of 3 whose hobby is running marathons around the world; she and her husband are off in 2 weeks to Florence, where she'll run the Florence marathon and then eat a lot of pasta. She did a marathon in the south of France where they served wine and sausage at the rest stations! Her class is superb - she's always bringing in new stretches, new ideas, and pushing us to go a bit faster and longer. And then, for the rest of Wednesday, I can't do much because my legs are a bit sore.

This evening there was a pleasant dinner at the annual Continuing Studies gathering at U of T. Great to spend time with my writer colleagues. This summer, while I was galavanting, the supremely talented Alyssa York sat nailed to her desk, hence her alabaster skin. She is delivering the first draft of her new novel in three weeks. While I, to show for my summer profession-wise, have this blog. You, my four or five faithful readers. And a 62,000 word manuscript of something which, in 3 weeks, I might be organised enough to get back to.

On the streetcar home, I got an earful from the seat behind. First two homeless teens sat talking about their lives on the street, how they learned to beg, how one of them got off drugs and is in subsidised housing for only $120 a month. At least our government is doing something right. When they got off, two girls sat down and began to talk about their friend Megan, "such a sweet girl," whose boyfriend has beaten her up several times and has had three weapons-related arrests. "She was like so apologetic that she called the police when he hit her," one of them said. "I was like, girl, don't let him treat you like that. But she felt so bad for him when the police came."

And then they talked about getting stoned with pop cans. "Such a great high, much better than when you roll and I don't know how to roll anyway. I used to go to school baked all the time. It was hilarious."

By the time I got off, I felt like a prim little old lady clutching my handbag tightly to my chest. What a wild world out there on the streets of Toronto.

Last night I began to fantasise, for the first time, about how to get back to the streets of Paris. I have a few weeks off next April. Perhaps Paris in April will become a third addiction.

You, Carol, Paris. Can't live without you.