Most of my co-working posse is up in the Great White North celebrating our capitalistic success. I, however, opted not to join the party because I am endlessly dedicated to my Advanced Fiction class at The Loft (unlike some people I know, Graduate). Also, the thought of traveling and layovers and changing planes and lost luggage (like last year) and getting stuck an extra night (like last year) all to get drunk and have fun with the Canucks only to come home literally sick and tired didn’t appeal to me.

However, as stories come trickling across the border of Seamus playing piano and Softwareman singing, I’m getting a little jealous. If only my other personality would split from my body so I could be in two places at once.

The biggest bummer of all is that my group won some swanky award, and I was not there to give my acceptance speech. Sure it’s a group award, but just like the Oscars there’s always one person who gets to speak. If I were there it would have been me. Mostly because I’m the unshyest of the bunch and I’m bossier. Plus, I’m not afraid to beg.

Now I’m going to have to work on getting that Oscar or National Book Award or MacArthur Genius Grant, because my acceptance speech is too good to go ungiven.