Labour Day brings grey skies, but reminds of open horizons.

Coffee is abetted by the fact that I'm able to sit and type in a padded armchair hear at Starbucks at Bloor and Ted Rogers Way, barely a ten-minute walk from home.  Typing while lying down on a deflated air mattress or sitting on a hardwood floor has been an invitiation for muscles to ache and I'm soaking this up fully before heading back home to kiss my sleeping girl on the forehead and take the elevator down five floors to the fitness room.  (Just in case I hadn't waxed eloquent about how awesome that is.)

It's a huge benefit and I'm grateful for everything right now, even the grey skies and the cool temperatures.  I can look out our seventh-floor window at the Manulife Financial building, which alternates the temperature in Fahrenheit and Celsius: one more little thing to figure out and incorporate into my new normal.  All the high-rise buildings around us, all the lights on at night in each little visible rectangle... it wasn't long ago that Jen and I used to make fun of what we called "aspirational apartments" overlooking Lake Calhoun in Minneapolis, and sure enough, now we inhabit one of the ubiquitious cookie-cutter-condo units ourselves.  Some things just evolve that way, and that's cool by me.  I can't imagine ending up in a better place or location, close to so much (the adjacent Danforth neighborhood to the east has quickly become a favorite; I'll only need to take one 15-minute bus ride from the front door of our building to the Kool Haus to see Off With Their Heads on October 14th; so much more to take in and absorb). 

I sit here for a few more minutes, doing a little GMAT Business-Ready online study as Meshuggah's "Chaosphere" album tracks ring in my ears.  It's a good summation of who I am, a good reminder that I've brought my whole self with me across the Canadian border.