Up at 8 am, pack stuff to send back with dad (Pillows. Extra Winter Jackets. Books Read.) End up at the office. Read the paper. Do some paper work.

Go to brunch, alone. Have conversations with the waiter about our favorite Globe and Mail columnists. He gets nervous and awkward, but he started it. I say Leah McLaren, although sometimes she's too sardonic. The Review section, this week, by the way, was amazing as it included a Leonard Cohen profile with great quotes plus in depth article about the Walrus plus Jimmy Fallon and Paris Hilton (although they used the wrong promo photo for her new series. I can't tell you how or why I know that). Low/High. I actually like Tabatha Southey more, sometimes, than anyone, because she reminds me of Lindor Reynolds from Winnipeg, sometimes.

Pick up cake mix. Office party monday, requires dessert, feels like it's going to be disappointing but the bakery isn't open Sunday or Monday so you'll get what you get. Head to yoga, am amazed at how my triceps are not as weak as I thought they might be yet how my abdomen appears to have become a morose bowl of jelly over winter and no longer serves at all.

Do some paper work. Bake some cake. Wash white shirts and black pants. Sleep early, morning yoga ambitions.