(no subject)

I am well and truly homesick.

I have had enough homes that you'd think I'd be always homesick or never homesick. But if I'm in Japan I miss pizza, and if I'm in Montreal I miss fried chicken (you can get absolutely every kind of ethnic food in the world in Montreal, except for southern-U.S.), and if I'm in Raleigh I miss poutine, and that's mostly the extent of it. I mean, of course Montreal is superior to Raleigh in terms of politics, urban design, weather, public transit, multiculturalism, and a dozen other things. But that's a separate matter from being homesick, it's just common sense.

But I was reading Cecil Castellucci's "Beige," wherein the heroine is in L.A. feeling intensely homesick for Montreal and e-mailing her friends in franglais, and it was a hundred and something here, and it really hit me. "I know how it feels! I want to go to the piscine and eat poutine too!"

And Littlest Sister is going up to McGill very soon now. Jealous, jealous. If only my French were better.