'twas the night before moving day...

...and all through the house,
all the creatures were stirring,
even the cats' toy mouse.

This afternoon the property manager for my current building and the one we're moving in to (manager is one and the same for both) called to let me know that the other tenants have moved out of the place, so after the painters get in tomorrow morning, we get the keys and can start moving in this weekend!

I'm...I'd say about...3/4 packed, but I haven't even started cleaning yet. This weekend I was going to finish the packing and start the cleaning because we have to be out of our places on Monday. Well, with being able to get into the new place as of tomorrow evening, I guess I can start moving the massive, encroaching piles of boxes over slowly tomorrow and Saturday, but that means that my night off tonight is shot! Instead of just taking it easy and doing some light work, I've been going like a bat out of hell, cleaning and packing. We're moving Etienne, and the large, heavier furniture pieces in on Sunday, and then I'll have Monday morning to clean the old place, and we'll be out before noon.

You know, it's crazy. I moved in on May 1st, and I'll be out on February 28th. Not even a year. Don't get me wrong, this move is a good thing, but I can't help thinking how much I'll miss my cozy little quarters. I know I've only been here a relatively short time, but a lot of things have happened in this little apartment, and I've had some truly meaningful moments here. Relationships started here, and ended here. The cats have found little corners in my little corner apartment and made them their own; Purrball preferred either the window ledge or hiding between the wall and the back of the couch, while Max staked out a spot on the bedroom floor, tucked under a small table, between a chair and the bureau, because it was small, dark, and right beside a heater. We've all made this little place a home. Ah, nostalgia.

Living alone has taught me that I'm quite capable of staying on top of the dishes, but that I still (and clearly always will) suck at keeping my clothes in their places. I'm terrible about cleaning the bathroom, but my hardwood floors were always swept. I've learned that I will sleep through nearly anything, including Etienne coming in at ungawdly early hours of the night and waking me up...actually that's a problem...not the waking up part, the fact that I'm sleeping through someone coming into my apartment. But a few simple security precautions would have taken care of that. All in all, I've mostly learned how to be a big girl in my little apartment. This was my first real stab at living alone, and the cats and I came through mostly to the good. But Life has new adventures in store.

It turns out that Fate has a sense of irony; Etienne and I "lived" together for nearly a month, two summers ago when I was pushed out of the hippie hellhole on Gladstone by bedbugs, and he very kindly and sympathetically took me in. At the time, he was philosophical and called it practice for when he eventually would live with someone...neither of us imagined at the time that it was practice for *us* to live together.

Let's see...damn, there's still plenty of time left tonight to keep working...*sigh*

Back to work.

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Post Script -

Okay, now I'm genuinely puzzled...how is it possible that I may have boxes left over? I moved out here with every box stuffed full...and I did a really efficient job of packing the boxes when I moved from Vancouver...and I've actually acquired more stuff since the move...and I haven't given away enough stuff to cancel out the new stuff...is my apartment defying physics?

Marcello

Several years ago, I wrote about how I never had a Jake Ryan, but some time after that, I described how I was lucky enough to have a Lloyd Dobler in my life. It's probably for the best that I missed out on the Jake, because it gave me the chance to open my eyes and find the Lloyd, which is something I'll always look back on fondly.

Something else I am going to look back on fondly is finding my Marcello. For those of you who haven't seen Under the Tuscan Sun, the protagonist, Frances, has a chance meeting with a handsome stranger, the dashing Marcello, and she embarks on a brief affair with him, but circumstances mean the affair can't last.

Around this time last year, Rod and I had decided to end the marriage, and during his absences for work, I found myself struggling with the idea of moving on. I was back out on the dating scene after a 13 year absence, and I was not sure what would come of it. I had already committed to the job and the move to Ottawa in May, so I knew I couldn't commit to anything long term in Vancouver, but still...if I was going to embrace the art of dating (including the inevitable rejection), I knew I had to get out and try it. Vancouver was going to be my chance to practice up before going to Ottawa to try in earnest.

A lot of "nevers" made an appearance in my life at that point, and a chance sighting on a train late at night, a personal ad (not as bad as it sounds), and a few emails later, I began a brief affair with my Marcello. It was only about three weeks, but my Marcello, besides being physically attractive, kind, and clearly willing to take a leap of faith, gave me chance to put some fears to rest and let go. He was the person I needed at that point in my life, and I'll always love that about him.

Thank you, my Marcello. Thank you.

Terror in Egypt

I've been glued to coverage of the protests in Egypt since they started, and it's been largely a roller coaster of emotions, from a swell of support for protesters to disbelief at the US response. Part of my monitoring has been a live stream of the news on Al Jazeera English because it's reporting that isn't presented with an American or a Canadian lens, and for the most part, it's been fascinating to watch the movement grow, despite efforts to cap it.

But today everything changed, as so-called Pro-Mubarak supporters suddenly materialized and emotional agitation gave way to outright violence. It's been sad to watch, but there is no question that the most gut-wrenching moment came just minutes ago, as the Al Jazeera reporter was interviewing by phone an Egyptian protester named Mona against the loud backdrop of sporadic, rapid gunfire in and around Tahrir Square. You could hear her fear and desperation as she sobbed and wondered way the Army was not stepping in to stop the gun violence which, at this time, has killed at least 4 people. The footage shows two men dragging another man over a bridge or overpass to safety, and the dragged man looks either critically wounded or dead.

Egypt is an amateur passion of mine, and I've been enthralled by the history of that dynamic, ancient civilization ever since I was a young child. As I got older, I was dreaming of being an Egyptologist. I've known from Egyptians I've encountered, as well as people I know who have encountered Egyptians, that they are a proud, largely even-minded people, so it seems somehow...wrong, for lack of a better word, to hear of Egyptians firing on Egyptians. I have no doubt that the capacity exists...but it just seemed so unlikely once the Army indicated that it would not take up against the protesters.

Hosni Mubarak needs to step down. Look at what his stupid pride, arrogance and greed has done...