Disconnected

Dear Outside World,

Oh, How I have missed you!

It's amazing how 24 hours without internet can make a person feel so disconnected from the world.
I"m in my new place. The move went reasonably well, with one minor hiccup which I will tell you about later.
We are currently trying to find our way through boxes upon boxes upon even more boxes of stuff. Oh the joys of moving! Soon, it will be better. I must endure.
I'm sneaking this break in at work since I'm feeling so internet deprived. The Eastlink folk are coming to save us on September First.
Much love until then,

Tracy

Moving Day

I’m about to turn my computer off.  And when I do, I won’t be turning it back on for at least 5 days.  Well, unless our internet is hooked up sooner.  Tomorrow is the long awaited and anticipated moving day.

Looking around, this is no longer my apartment.  The bookshelf in front of me is bare except for a stack of Magazines to be recycled.  The hot pink curtains that used to hang on the wall are gone and were replaced by nothing.  The walls are bare, the dresser tops are cleared and everything is empty.  Boxes are piled high.

I wonder if we’ve left a mark on the apartment.  Do you really leave a little piece of you wherever you go?  I’ve left holes in the wall – failed attempts at hanging stuff.  I’m hoping the landlord won’t notice them.  Or else I’ll have to fill them.

I would like to leave a vibrant red wall in the kitchen.  But I think the landlord intends for us to paint it back to white before we leave.  It’s too bad, because if you ask me, it really adds to the place.  But tomorrow, it will not be my red wall.  Although, technically, it is my red wall until 1 pm on August 31.

And now, it is bed time.  We’re packed. We’re as clean as we can be until the movers come and take all of our stuff away.  It’s going to be a busy and long day tomorrow.  I’ll be back soon.  I promise.

DNR

I looked at them one last time.  I sighed a sigh of letting go, turned my head, and dropped them into the garbage bag.

I remember them in their glory. The way my feet felt when I first put them on.  The pink suede was oh-so-pretty and delicate.  The strap criss-crossed over top of the foot and Velcroed neatly on the side.  The shoes looked like little ballerina slippers.

I would love them so much in the months to come.  Hardly a day went by when I wouldn’t wear them.  I would wear them with skirts, pants, capris, or jeans.  I would wear them to walk downtown, to work, to go on adventures or even just around the house.

As I returned them safely to a shoe shelf, I noticed a dark spot on the heel.  I flipped them over, and to my surprise/horror, there was a spot in the sole that had worn out.  Most of the sole was worn thin, but in one spot, it was definitely worn. Pink suede peaked through the beige rubber sole. I put them on the shoe shelf and sighed a sigh of defeat.

The shoes had aged. The suede was no longer smooth. The colour was faded and grayed.  The soles were bare.
I tried to think up any way possible not to have to lay the shoes to rest.  

I thought about taking them to shoe repair.  It could be an attempt at resuscitation – they could dye the suede and resole the bottom.   It would give them one last chance to fight.  One more adventure. One more day.  

  Could I do it? Could I squeeze one more ounce of life out of them?  If I gave them a second chance, would they have the courage to face another day? Or should I let them die an honorable death?I took one more look at them and realized: These shoes are so done they need a Do Not Resuscitate Order on them.

So I laid them to rest.  I placed them gently in the black garbage bag and set them free.  I remembered the good and the fun times we shared together.  And now they’ve moved on. And of course, all shoes go to heaven.

Hard Days Night

Fifteen minutes earlier than expected, the first of the day crew arrived. It was 6:45 am, and I couldn't have been happier to see a fresh morning face. It had been a long night at work.

She took one look at me and said "go home". I wasted no time.

The morning sun almost blinded me when i stepped outside. I knew I had left my sunglasses in the car, so I didn't think much of it.

The windows were foggy and wet with morning condensation, so the first thing I did when I got in the car was turn on the wipers and the defrost. I was on my way!

I took off my regular glasses, put them in their case, and put on my sunglasses. As I'm driving down the road, I can't figure out why the windows are still foggy, and why everything is blurry. The sun is still blinding but at least the glare is blocked.

I can see well enough to realize that nothing looks familiar. I've obviously made a wrong turn. I study the street signs and realize that I'm two blocks past where I actually need to be.

At this point, I realize that everything is foggy because I don't have my prescription glasses on anymore. I'm still on the wrong street. I make a couple of turns and finally I'm back on the right track.

Pleasantly surprised at my ability to problem solve, I arrive home. It's amazing how a 5 minute drive can feel like a five hour drive. And bed never felt so good.

TGIF... postponed

As per usual, I have spent the better part of the week anticipating Friday.  By Tuesday, the work week felt so long that I thought we must be at least on Wednesday.  By Wednesday I figured it had to be Thursday.  It wasn’t.  
Today is Thursday.  And today, I freaked out…. It can’t be Friday tomorrow!  I’m not ready for it yet.

Friday is the day at the very end of the work week, where I realize the better part of this week’s to-do list remains grossly untouched.  All that procrastination, over-thinking, draft copies of letters and attempted research projects are still sitting on my desk.  They’ve been started, shuffled, drafted, redrafted and even discussed.  But they’re not done.
Tomorrow is D-Day: Deadline day.  By I’m not done yet.  And for the first time in what feels like forever, I wish Friday was just one more day away.

Sign me up

The only reason I know it’s not entirely true is because at the end of the day, I can usually recollect the curious mishaps of the day.  Usually. Not always.

A few weeks ago, my water bottle went missing.  It was perplexing because this particular Nalgene bottle never leaves the house.  I carry around the house, but never outside of the house.  I  remembered that earlier in the day I had sliced some lemon, filled it with water and put it in the fridge.  The next time I went to find it, it was gone.  Not where I remembered leaving it.  I searched high and low but to no avail.  

Weeks later, or yesterday, Megan told me she found my Nalgene bottle.  It was under the cupboard with the baking supplies.  It was also all gross and mildewy.  Now, I know exactly where it is: the garbage.

These past few weeks have been super helter-skelter, even for me.  My cell phone turned up in the cutlery basket in the sink for the clean dishes.  The only reason I found it there was because the ringer was on and I could phone it.

I misplaced a fruit salad, in a Tupperware in the sink.  That one had me stumped for about a day and a half.  I found it when I went to wash the dishes.

For now, I think that’s it.  Sure, there are more random articles that turn up in odd and unusual places, but this seems to be the bulk of it.

And at the end of the day, all I can think is very early onset of Alzheimer’s.  Perhaps I’ll put myself on the waiting list for some quality nursing homes.