Something monumental has happened to me this summer — what with a broke-down computer, a move and a wedding to end all weddings — but I haven't had time to think about what all of it means, in the grand scheme of things. I think it's time to pool my thoughts for a spell and just soak in it. Then I will towel myself off, wipe the rot off and move on and on and on and on.
I think last weekend was the final polish on my summer monument, a greasy reality shot if you will. After spending a lovely, trying and reflective weekend with a gang of old friends, I know it's time to wipe the slate — 'cause the slate is chalk full of kack. I think the only way I can shuck the husk is to walk away. Shuck anything that caters to my old self (this is sounding like the premise for a self-help book).
But the job is a sticking point. As is my location in this wide world. I am unsure of how to unseat myself. I guess I just need to dive into the pool and portage myself to Toronto. Voyeur-geur. So if anyone is driving that way in the next couple of months, let me know. I make an excellent co-pilot.
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3 comments:
Ah V, I hear you (profile-less Oksana here, still not having found time to do it, but damn it, I will). It has been a summer of foment and ferment and god knows what else.
But guess what? I have no time to soak.
Instead, am decamping for the big smoke. Dream job came through and it's all going to go down this month. Trying to control the freakage, trying to figure out how to make it work with the Ninja, who must be here for a while but hopefully, hopefully not forever.
Come.
This only went down yesterday and no one really knows (I'm about to go in and resign, a moment I've long waited for). Hard not to just lose it: it's such a good/scary scenario.
Toronto needs you.
Whoah. Give me a phone call will you? I think I need to hear you voice this one out.
My cell phone kacked this week. I've got myself a new one (same number), but I've lost all my contact numbers.
You call me Monday night.
Gheesh. What a frikin' summer.
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