MOVING in a NUTSHELL
Note to Self: never, NEVER move during a heat wave.
I once vowed, while traveling in India, that I would be careful about complaining about the heat because India in May? is freakin' hot! 50C in the shade- nightmare stuff. Of course that was before I moved to Ottawa with Michael in the middle of a heat wave.
I was an emotional wreck (I was tired and teary) and Michael was... chain smoking, overbearing and somewhat obnoxious. Oh! it went well. Now, moving sucks. Moving long distance sucks, especially after 3 years in a place and the unknown quantity of what one is moving into. Add in a heat wave, emotional instability, a small dog and Michael being a jackass? It turns into a circle of hell that Dante didn’t conceive of. I’m not sure what the punishment Dante would conceive such a move would be for – moving every1-3 years as a child and not fully appreciating one’s mother? Being a jerk when one’s parents take you around the world at an early age? Mom would get behind either of those, I think, she’d think it was appropriate. She’s got the punitive aspect of the Judeo Christian culture down to a T, our MS. J (it’s a gift, really... HI MOM!)
So- yeah. Michael's ass-dom didn't help either my move or my spirits. It was just so- intrusive, insensitive, and nasty-- definitely a bad sign of things to come. And he gets that self satisfied smirk when he’s being obnoxious and an ass that makes me want to hurt him. I ended up yelling, trying to get him to calm down and stop (for instance) sweeping all of my toiletries into a garbage bag and sticking them in the trunk of the car. I’m still missing the whale that Inneke Te Velde gave me for my 21 birthday. Just a nightmare. I felt so violated, scared and freaked out. It turns out my fears were well placed (more on that later).
Don't love the new place, but then I knew that coming in. Have tentatively unpacked some of my stuff (a few things in the kitchen, clothes I need for job interviews, Belle related items, toiletries and cleaning supplies) but really don't want to unpack a lot. Besides, this place is really dirty and has had no upkeep (the plaster falling from the ceiling in the closet where I had been keeping the cleaning supplies is a case in point). I've done the kitchen (as much as I can do- and to the point where I am comfortable putting plates and cans of food in the cupboards) and the bathroom (the horror! the horror!). My room got a much needed sweep and scrub. The windows are unbelievable, but I figure that the dirt is in lieu of curtains. Michael's not the tidiest of people. Now, I'm a cluttered person. My personal filing technique could be summed up by the word “pile” (although i do have moments of organization). Dishes may accumulate over a day or so. But I am clean. Dirt does not pile up like sand dunes in my room (although it is a constant battle against dog hair. sigh) But dirt? isn't fun. I'm on a full out dirt patrol around here. I think he believes cleaning is for other people.
BOSTON 2005
And I finally got to visit Boston. Max is adorable and it was great to visit with Joanne, Rob & Thor. We didn’t do much. I did get to visit the sacred site of the Boston Marathon finish line. And Joanne and I went to Newbury where we got a manicure. I chose the exact same colour as I did the last time I got a manicure-- pale pink. I am in such a beauty rut... It was funny to see men getting pedicures-- acting all detached and tough about it. What else? Ate well, had some yummy white wine (I love the wine... glad I can have a glass every once in awhile but also glad I don’t enjoy it too much... as will be discussed more in future posts). I also got to run my old route from Jamaica Plain into Harvard Square. I was like a puppy-- so excited and eager and smiling like a lunatic. Runners in Boston tend to be a little competitive. Not many smiles there. A couple of bystanders were encouraging though (it may have been the tight shorts). Running across the Smoot bridge, over the Charles and seeing the CITGO sign. Taking the T back into JP, crossing the Charles on the Salt and Pepper Bridge (I think that’s it-- I always forget their names). Sigh. I’ve missed Boston. I’m glad I didn’t go while I was living in Montreal. I’m not sure I would have been able to return. I don’t miss living in the US, but i miss Boston. I may try to get back there somehow. It was good to be back.
I’ve got to post this-- it’s so out of date, but I want some kind of record of the move from hell, the trip to Boston and y’know- JUNE and JULY 2005.
Lights will guide you home... and ignite your bones. And I will try to fix you.
No comments:
Post a Comment