So August is drawing to a close
So August is a drawing to a close, and my days are filled with boxes, packing tape and dust bunnies. Moving in September has become an annual ritual for me – Chaucer could have opened up with this stuff. Every year, for the past five years, you could find me on the road somewhere, with all my meagre belongings, shuttled down highways or simply accross town, to what would presumably be better digs. Now, entering my sixth year of movement, the gypsy lifestyle shows no signs of abating.
The digs this year, they definitely are better. I’m moving back to a third-floor flat, with a window in the bathroom and hardwood floors. This means no more basement apartments, ever-humid bathrooms and old uber-thin carpeting. I will miss the mega-windows in the kitchen, especially since the new kitchen isn’t so much a room but an alcove, but I can deal. As long as I demand to live in old heritage homes as opposed to garish apartment buildings, I know to take the good with the bad.
Finally, on the lighter side, I’ve moved into the paranoia stage that comes with moving. i’m afraid i won’t find enough boxes. I’m afraid I rented a van for the wrong day. I’m afraid I signed a lease to the wrong unit number. Only physical exhaustion, or finally making the move will bring it to an end. For now, I cope by throwing out items I arbitrarily deem to be useless, needless or just too absurd to own, even for the likes of me.
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