I leave on Friday, and while that seems so far away (in terms of having to show up to work and organize my possessions) that I can't even get excited about the prospect of the West Coast, let alone the prospect of Europe, it's close enough for me to start wondering what the fuck I'm doing. This doesn't manifest so much with people, though obviously I'll miss everybody, because people can participate in visiting, emailing, blogging, Facebook, letter writing, et cetera. More in terms of my apartment.
Despite it being overheated during the winter, despite the crack parkette, despite everything, this is the most comfortable place I've ever lived. I was allergic to my parents' house, and all my apartments have been shittier and less conveniently laid-out than this one, or else I was sharing a kitchen or going through some sort of tempestuous period. When I came back to Toronto I was an utter mess, and I didn't stop being a mess until I got my own space here and had a superb little kitchen with the lovely big fridge and the gas range, and the eggplant floors, and the claw-foot bathtub. There were obviously lots of other factors that cleaned up the mess that was me, but having this apartment for my space helped. Perhaps now I'll go on to bigger and better things - I hope so since objectively speaking this would actually be quite a shit apartment if it wasn't in downtown Toronto or some other second world city with an inhospitable climate - but I've loved this place so much. I'm glad Crybaby is taking it. I wouldn't want it to go to some stranger.
Not much other news. Had a nice weekend with my family, Sugar and her man, and a couple of goodbye type meals, one of them at El Bodegon, which is yummy, though it didn't seem as yummy as last time somehow. One more goodbye meal Thursday night, besides the one next Wednesday with my family, and then I'm off. I shall miss cooking in my darling kitchen.