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July 18, 2003: moving There is so much stuff on my desk right now. i mean, so much. Like, I borrowed my approach to filing from the Earth. Who says I should get organized. Because at least the earth has plate tectonics; my stuff just stays where it is. And here i am, at work, with only two weeks left, starting a diary instead of doing even productive non-work, like cleaning all this stuff off. I guess i'll save that for later, like everything else. It's even likely that the cleaning of paper that litters every available surface in my life will be the last thing that I do, and that it will only involve throwing it into a cardboard box to be stored and forgotten. This is my specialty. I have boxes to go through from the first time i went to college. It'll be good, though; I wouldn't want to lose my chemistry syllabus for the week of march 18, 1996. Those are some fond memories. You know, I thought that having a long time to pack would be a blessing, but it isn't. Right now i'm caught in that limbo, where i ought to start packing, but i don't want to pack up stuff that i might actually need. like, t-shirts i might want to wear or something. and yet i already packed up the dictionary, so that the other night when i'm engaged in a ferocious round of scrabble with zack's girlfriend, i have to use his 2 volume shorter oxford english dictionary when i challenged one of her words, when my smaller merriam webster would be even less likely to have it. fortunately it was so not a word that it wasn't even in the big book, but still. speaking of which, i'm going back to school in toronto, canada. I have a suspicion that it's my destiny, like neo, or the hobbit. Fate has led me to go north of the border, up canada way, to where my grandfather was in the seminary and dropped out, and my uncle went to some slacker school where everyone in his classes were lumberjacks or something who only came out of the woods to buy books and take the final, and where the order of catholic priests that founded our high school is currently based. (why would they move to houston? Either they thought of it as missionary work, like going to central america, which would actually display a remarkable amount of savvy, Texas being basically what Latin America would be like if Latin America were protestant, or they threw a dart at a map of the United States but didn't throw very hard.) But, like, the day i got my acceptance letter, i went to this resale shop near my apartment that i never go into, and i'm looking for new beverage glasses because my roommate broke Two of my Favorite ones, including the whataburger glass, which i loved and still do, like that dog in where the red fern grows that dies of sadness because she still loves the other dog who died saving their master from a mountain lion, and i cry every night the way i did when i first read where the red fern grows; except i don't think i really cried, but i did get kinda choked up. Anyway, picture the scene: resale shop. kinda smelly. some homeless guy haggling with the shopkeeper over some crappy shirts he stole from the laundromat. And what do i see, in this orphanage for individual cups and bowls from sets that were once five or even ten, this alleyway of lost souls where receptacles that once held milk with chocolate syrup, cereal, or otherwise now hold only dust and faded dreams, this culinary implement post-Great War Europe, a faded and scarred lost generation of crockery, but a cream pitcher, white, boldly emblazoned in red with a picture of the CN tower, the Largest freestanding structure in the Whole World, underneath the inscription "I [HEART] TORONTO"? It was like, i had seen the sign; it opened up my eyes. In a bit, i'm going to see Pirates of the Carribean. there's this girl in it who wears a corset. corsets sure seem painful. |