The book of face is throwing me off my game. It vexes me that I keep using the word ‘alleged’ but no one cares enough to say that I ‘allegedly’ did so.

I am presently avoiding packing. Folding all my clothes and fitting them into vacuum-seal-able plastic bags with loud, crinkly sounds. Somewhat guiltily, as my sweet, generous cousin sleeps down the hall. Ever since my last move, I have noticed a tendency to delay important things like packing to the very last minute, despite my reputation as a master-planner in all other situations.  This delayed response is a trait I previously only associated with men (I know men, you hate when I generalize. So sorry). Though the ‘why’ to this ‘how’ differs vastly. For men I’ve known it has more to do with caring less. While for me, it’s something entirely else. Perhaps the polar opposite. I also notice a tendency to subconsciously create other problems to distract me to from the more pressing ones. The ones in the past I imagine I would have handled far worse, if at all.

A writer working in insurance, pondering the possibility of ending up with a future there even, is an odd thing. Life is funny in that just when you’re on the cusp of something, it’s so easy to imagine something else. We all just want some sense of stability, don’t we? Something to come home to, to enable trip-taking and gift-buying. Drinks on a beach. The dinner out everyone else keeps talking about. Without the guilt. Something to make us sleep soundly at night. Instead of waking up tired from vivid, off kilter, unexpectedly violent nightmares.

Interesting how one dread often replaces another. I look at the photo below and try to situate myself in that past moment. Think of how in that past moment I tried to predict the way I feel now. Dreaded and simultaneously tried to prepare myself like some messed up kind of training of sorts. I think of how I tried to savour the view, the scent of summer, it’s slight murkiness. The feeling of much of what formed my identity being lost in the shuffle, the scuttle, the stress of trying to start anew. In a freakin expensive, inconvenient city. In the moment, it was the feeling of being a certain being, in the ‘perfect’ place at a certain time. None of which could ever be recreated. Now I stand facing the thing I knew needed to be faced. And knew it would be difficult to feel ‘placed’. Yet it still irks me.



While I finish only half of the packing I said I would tonight now, (partly thanks to a certain Prince with the ogre-like name of Igor) I would like to impart some kinda zen. Now and then. It’s the best strategy really, even for an overactive, cyclonic mind.  To give some kinda reason to artful reasoning. Basically, for at least some of us, there is always some other future we try to see ourselves in, positive or negative, and always a loss.  Which by definition is a negative.  Though the now may always be filled with that jumping ahead or behind, it should really remain neutral. If not, what else is it good for?!

And as a reminder to myself of the impressive, unexpected strength in light of losing my familiar environment, my good friends, and the identity that was associated with my life in Montreal, I present the images of my lost, beloved view.  Unfazed. While previously provoking a rather devastated fit. As would the fact that I had hundreds of more photos of my last months in Montreal ,and lost the freakin memory card somewhere along the way!  The photos don’t do it justice, in truth though.  Really, it was a magical thing I never predicted having, and now I try to think one day I’ll have something(s) similarly unpredictably blissful again one day.