this is the last night before i will finally live on my own.
i’m leaving tomorrow. i have nothing to look back at.
i never really do.
i’ve taken everything apart and down over the past few days, but just now i noticed that the calendar is still on the wall. i’ve thought about taking it down, but i kept stopping myself from doing it because it makes no sense to remove it. i still need it. i still need to know what day it is.
i have a phone, obviously. and i can count the days without a calendar, at least for two or three. i don’t need it. and i should have taken it down when i took away my photographs and notes and birthday cards and coasters and yorick and everything else.
but i left it. i keep leaving it. and now i’ve even recognized that i don’t need it and i still will leave it. until i’m gone tomorrow.
i’ll probably forget it now that i’ve made such a big deal about it.
i moved into a new room this week. new rooms terrify me and reassure me all at the same time. my wonderfully busy job and my amazing roommate keep me from losing my mind, as does my sister. sisters do it best.
i’ve lost count of how many houses and apartments i’ve lived in and so my room always remains somewhat the same, bits and pieces clinging to the original, if there is an original. it doesn’t make sense not to bring something with you when you’ve been bringing it for so long. and there are new things. there are always new things.
when i first came to ottawa my bedroom had really wide windows. i sat at my desk a lot and procrastinated on homework and watched this one really tall tree sway in the wind, which it did always. almost always. and i ate kiwi. a lot of kiwi. in hamilton my comfort food was pickles, so i kept a jar in my ottawa fridge that i never ate. it was still there when i was moving out:
there was no traffic at that apartment, but there was that one swaying tree. i miss that tree sometimes. that really isn’t the point. the point is that i never ate pickles while i was looking at the tree and avoiding my homework, or whatever. i ate kiwi. with a spoon. you know, cut in half. without thinking about it, easily, lazily, staring out the window. (when it was pickles i ate them right off the fork out of the jar sitting on the cat’s weird little house in the kitchen against the back door where the window overlooked the deck and the trees and i could keep the fridge open if i wanted or closed it didn’t matter.) that was the last time i lived alone, really, because then i had matt and we were dating and everything and when you live with a boyfriend you kind of abandon comfort food. or i do. anyway. i’m trying to say that it was also the last time i ate comfort food. not to say that i didn’t eat a lot of kiwi, because i did. and also a few pickles here and there, if that counts. but it’s not the same.
so needless to say i bought kiwi when i got here.
and apparently i’ve forgotten how to eat it. with a spoon. it didn’t work out. i won’t go into detail but barely any of it ended up on the spoon, most of it on my sweater. no easy or lazy. huge ordeal. i need to move on. find a new comfort food, hopefully without thinking about it. but all my food is comfort food.
i do sit in the window though, and it overlooks the street. and there isn’t any traffic here but you still see some pretty interesting things.
this morning i made a pretty wonderful pros and cons list to address my increasingly ridiculous ‘life’ situation. there are 10 pros and only 7 cons. at these stages i always make silly decisions that most people would probably regret and i never do, i stumble awkwardly through a series of encounters i didn’t really want to find myself in but don’t mind once they happen, don’t care once they’re over, don’t remember why i did it and feel good knowing it doesn’t matter. i’ve always done the same thing, just over and over on repeat and later i find the most comfort not in the actions themselves but in the fact that i’m still me, i’m a revolving door always, i always go back to being alone in my head because i’m the only person i trust completely and, too much of the time, the only person i like. i know that it isn’t perfect because sometimes it’s nice to have someone kickin’ it to be alone with, but i never like when things are too perfect anyway.
i’ve been sorting everything again, and cutting and pasting and organizing all my pictures into online scrapbooks. i dance just about everywhere i walk, i sit in the windows of my apartment and count the cars going by because part of me wonders how many will come and go from my life before i don’t have the option anymore. i watch movies in my bed as i fall asleep and drink tall glasses of water, i kill bugs and forget to shower until it’s too late. i haven’t lost my focus and smoked to the filter in what must be months now, weeks have unraveled. i’ve started video scrapbooks for the apartment, with matt, it’s absolutely fabulous, i’m trying to remember that i don’t want to forget. it gives me something incredible to look forward to even as everything disappears, because every detail is recorded, i record just about everything because i know one day i’ll push myself away from it. i wouldn’t want it to be another way.
it’s completely personal. i can dig it. this is the first time in three years, potentially ever, that i’ve used all three sections of a notebook. not for different purposes.
we used to smoke cigarettes
together on the
backs of benches, you were
younger and even though
they’re all younger you
were the youngest, it was
a sign i wasn’t
serious, that it wouldn’t work,
you talked about trains
you’d never take, i talked
about smoke rings and the sky,
i said i’d take the train too,
the magic of forgetting
on my tongue, i don’t know
what we thought
would happen but i’m glad
it never did because
now i still have you, and i love you
there’s something unsettling about my dad’s news that he’s leaving his apartment. the apartment he rented just so my sister and i could come and live with him when we had nowhere else to go. the winding staircase, the dark, narrow hallway and the small windowless corner of the apartment that was going to be my bedroom. my wide, hopeful eyes when my dad asked me what i thought. i didn’t have to say a word — he opened his wallet counted up the cash for the deposit then and there. everything was going to be okay, and it was.
eight and a half years in that little apartment above the optometrist. painting and re-painting, old boyfriends and movies, insomnia. writing outside on the fire escape in the dead of night, the dead of winter. first and new friendships and learning to open up to something unfamiliar. being with someone in a strange and different way, a pure way. green lamplight.
carnegie gallery rooftop parties and the heat in the kitchen. friends from what felt like every corner of the earth. sublime and snes. hanging a backwards clock in a windowless dining room just to find a way to forget the rest of the world exists — turning on all the lights and pretending 3am is noon. the sounds of the midway in the backyard, friends puking into buckets in our hallway. falling up the stairs. chelsea maglelsky. spacing out, sketching out, hangovers. high school.
the front stoop.
the sound of the street-level door swinging, the sound that brought its share of hopes, excitement and anxieties. everything we all had when we first moved into our eight-year home. we couldn’t have known if it was going to work, or if we were going to work together, or if we’d be able to make it just the three of us. we had some real low points. real low points. but we made it. that little apartment, that narrow little apartment helped us make it. we wouldn’t have been the same without it.
king street apartment, you are the best.
so it looks like our temp-roomies have found a new apartment to move into as of june 1st. i’m excited for them, and i love moving, and i especially love new apartments… but this is a little different. we always knew this day would come but it feels weird to think that we won’t have wine-buddies in our living room every friday and saturday night (and often on weeknights too). or that i’ll be alone in the apartment all day without leah to watch soap operas and daytime talk shows with. or that matt won’t have a bro anymore, just down the hall, to back him up when he talks about science… damn… i’ll never understand science.
nipple pastie craft day in the park
they had celebratory beers in the park next door once they found out their good news, and so i went down there with them. and i guess they’re moving out soon (june 1st is so much sooner than i thought — may 12th? wtf!?), but that doesn’t mean we won’t crash their apartment all the time. or that they can’t do the same. we can still make videos in the park when the weather is really nice, like we always planned to do. or get a few cans of beer and carve our signatures into picnic tables like we’re fifteen. or just make diy sex toys and nipple pasties. you know. whatever.
BEST TEMP-ROOMIES ever (of all time).
i don’t think i’d have ever let anyone else come live with us. and they were the best. and i will miss them when they’re not here anymore. a lot! and we’ll be there, at their new apartment. all the time, by the way. whenever we’re not here, pretty much. watch out, temp-roomies, because you can’t stay away from us forever.