Sitting with the lights off, gearing down to get ready to head off to bed by browsing the net and checking up the blog’s daily stats. Weather’s nice – finally some hotter temperatures – the fan is on.
Thomas complains about a pen on eBay he had his eye on. “The seller didn’t know what he had,” and so didn’t tag the pen ideally. Thomas was hoping to snag it for around $5… but looks like while the seller didn’t know what he had, everyone else did. Bidding’s driven the price up to $20 already (with 2 more days to go).
Avery sits looking out the window. Sometimes I’m afraid a raccoon is going to appear out of nowhere, mad and rabies infested, and scratch him in the face – but Thomas assures me that’s not possible. There’s not only one, but two screens to go through, and he’s pretty certain that the raccoon’s nails wouldn’t be able to get through either layer.
It’s spooky because one night a raccoon did appear right in front of the window. We got a good look at him and he got a good look at us. I can’t remember how things went down from there, but one way or another, he scurried off – either because we scared him, or because he’d had better places to go. Since then, I’ve been a bit worried about Avery being at the window at night; especially since the window is level with the ground outside.
To my left there’s a door and just outside that door, every so often I hear scratching. It could be my paranoia (one night I heard the hard drive inside our NAS whir and thought it was a mouse scratching away inside the walls), but there’s a good chance the noise from outside is a couple of crazy ‘coons. They pick through our garbage and leave a heap of a mess if we happen to leave something meaty in the trash bin without keeping the lid secure with a brick.
One day, we’ll be outta here and we’ll have to strain to remember all these little things. Was just thinking about that this morning. We won’t outright forget all the annoying little parts about living here – how loud the people in the apartment building behind us can be, how it blocks out part of the sun much too soon before dusk leaving us with a few hours less of true daylight, how terribly horrendous this yellow carpet in our room is, how the sewage smells sometimes when you’re taking a walk outside on the street, how there are hobos living in the park near this house, and how terribly the street salt stains our clothes in the winter – we’ll forget it until we’re reminded, and even then the memories will feel like an old dream.
Some of the good things, too, will feel stale when we remember them: how we’ll spend all night (and day) talking about our future and where we’re headed, and sometimes, how far we’ve come – how snuggle-y Avery’s been all winter – how he’ll do a couple of quiet mews before he goes off to use the kitty-restroom – how nice it is to take a nap altogether in the middle of the afternoon when the sun’s still shining brightly – how sometimes we’ll have the best “family hugs” (with the cat of course; and yet Avery doesn’t ever seem to mind) – and how nice it is to wake up in the morning to our own routines, or breaking those routines – whatever we’d like to do that day.
These are all things we can take with us, though. They probably won’t change even after we’re gone.
The things that will change – the things we can’t take with us, I’m not sure whether or not I’ll truly miss. The way the light shines through this window. The loveliness of the grape vines in the backyard. Not having to worry about being too hot in the summer since we’re in this weird not-quite-downstairs, not-quite-upstairs, and thus mild temperature-d, space.
But if I replace those things with new lovely things – a different window, some other gorgeous greenery – I’ll be more than happy enough.
The things that will change that I can’t replace: when we move, we won’t be as physically near my family. But that’s okay. I’ll teach them to use Skype and we’ll chat on the web. And when we do meet in person – I’m sure that the time spent together will be altogether more meaningful.
I’m not much of an in-person kind of person anyway. Not that I ever was, but I’m definitely worse these days. I like exchanging emails, talking on the phone – it makes me less anxious than when I have to be around people in the flesh. I can pick out my words more carefully, don’t have to be as afraid to say or do something wrong. I can breathe a lot easier.
I suppose if I weren’t that kind of person from the start, I probably wouldn’t be married to Thomas today. We did meet online, got to know each other through countless hours on Skype and numerous messages back and forth. If I wasn’t open to a real online relationship, with friends or otherwise, my life today would never have been possible. And that’s a pretty bleak thing for me to imagine. I love this small life that Thomas and I have (with Avery of course; what a peach <3).
I’m happy to uproot and find a city that we can finally feel is our home. Toronto’s never been that place to me. When I was young, I used to feel I “belonged” here, but only in the sense that I didn’t feel I belonged anywhere else. Things got significantly worse and worse the older I got. Now, while I can’t say for certain I’ll find a place that really feels like home, I do know that Toronto isn’t ever going to be that for me. I’m going to try looking, and I’m sure I’ll find something that feels at least a little closer to what I’m looking for.
Avery meows at me in an attempt to grab my attention. Meep, meep again; he wants to play. I suppose that’s my cue to leave. I suppose I’ll have him chase the pink paracord around some, brush my teeth, and get ready to head off to sleep. Take the black blanket, fold it up 3 or 4 times, and place it on the foot of the left corner of the bed for the cat to lie on tonight. Same routine as every night.
Okay; come on, Avery. Let’s go play.