I just spent 40 minutes switching my fridge/freezer doors from one side to the other. You'd think this would be easy, but you'd be wrong. My fruit is half defrosted because the doors were off for ages and I'm not sure how the dill has fared. I've been holding off on getting groceries until this task was complete, so, yay! I can buy groceries now!
Honestly, this is the highlight of my week thus far. You can see how thrilling my life has become. Or maybe it was always like this...
After work today I tried to start unpacking. I figured a week was long enough to wait before getting settled in. This is the longest I've ever waited after moving. I just haven't really felt like settling in just yet. But it's starting to get sort of ridiculous, dodging boxes and eating takeaway. My eating habits have been quite sad this week, and I've only just eaten a meal prepared (sort of) in my own home: warming up a frozen prepared meal (made before I went to Edmonton) in the microwave. The sense of accomplishment is slight.
I've gotten rid of so many books that I now need to find other things to fill the empty spaces on the shelves. Currently my toolbox is dividing my cookbooks from BUST; this is amusing to me. I wanted to put my drill between pop culture books and Japanese language books, but it doesn't make sense.
The house is still a total mess, but at least it's sort of set out as I intended it to be. Minus all the boxes, of course. And with things out of the boxes and put somewhere. And my clothes out of suitcases... Crap.
One day... one day I will be settled in. One day...
Monday, September 8, 2008
Saturday, September 6, 2008
the long of it
The timing of things these last couple of months has left something to be desired. First I found out that two friend couples were getting married on the same day. Then the whole moving debacle threatened the enjoyment of the one I had plans to attend, as well as one next month (since at the time of RSVPing I didn't know when I would find a place to move to). In the end, I guess things work out as they should.
The wedding in Edmonton was a lot of fun. Like, I mean so much fun that I even looked at job postings this week in Edmonton. I really miss my great friends Dulcie and Nels (and assorted other Edmonton friends, but their wedding caused the chain reaction of feelings, so they get the shout-out), and that I didn't worry about the move hardly at all while I was there indicates I should really think about where I should concentrate on being to be happy. Does that make sense?
Dulcie, never a conventional girl, wore a '40s looking fuschia suit with pale green top and super fantastic apple green heels from J.Crew, with hair styled and makeup to match. Really, she was stunning. Nels looked pretty dapper himself in a white blazer and black tux pants. Almost like the girl who sent her sweetheart off to war, only to discover the bandleader left behind because of asthma or a bum leg or something, whom she wound up fancying more. And the wedding itself was at the Aviation Museum, so pictures were beside these historic planes that lent themselves to the feeling of the '40s.
The wedding was a civil ceremony, but I don't think I've ever had to stop myself from crying so much at a wedding because it was so lovely. The vows, really, were what had the place in tears (I've never seen so many men cry at one time before) and I foolishly didn't plan ahead well enough to stuff my cardigan with tissues before the ceremony to hand off to Dulcie as she needed them (thank goodness for her mom, who slipped me tissue after the initial tears started, before the major waterworks). Were I a flatter-chested girl, perhaps I could have stuffed my bra with reinforcements.
I tried to avoid the groom's brother's attempts to document the whole affair on video, turning to wipe the ocular fluid and snot away, yet remain a vision as far as maid-of-honours go. I suspect I failed; my eyes felt pretty puffy and green.
Of course, being able to spend time specifically with Dulcie's parents (whom I adore) and other family members on both sides that I hadn't met before was a bonus. Dulcie, especially, has the sort of family that envelops you and is a lot of fun to be around. The family drink, a PVC*, causes side-splitting stories (and I love that there's a family drink) and tests strength of character. The groom's youngest brother thought he could handle the drink. He could not. His slurring words indicated the drink kicked his butt.
I also discovered that Guitar Hero II causes RSI. My hands hurt so much after a couple of hours of playing that I swore I wouldn't play ever again.
During the trip I also managed to visit my grandparents. Talking with my mom ahead of time, I wasn't sure I wanted to go because their health has declined to the point that I thought I might not recognise them anymore, but she thought it would be a good idea. Still, the sense of obligation and the fact that I love my grandparents made me go. I kind of feel like a terrible granddaughter because I stayed for just an hour-and-a-half, talking with my grandfather while my grandmother mostly rested. I was sort of OK talking with him, despite him telling me they want to die (he'll be 99 in January, she will be 96), but when she woke up and looked at me I kind of lost it. She doesn't remember me at all and it's hard for me to hide my emotions. I didn't want to just sit there and cry, so instead I made a hasty retreat, giving them both kisses, knowing it would be the last time I see them.
I know why my mom wanted me to visit: they don't socialise at all anymore, no one visits them, and because of my grandmother's state my grandfather spends his days looking out the window with no one to talk to and no chance to do more than just sit. Any contact with the outside world might lift their spirits if only for a short time. And I just blew it by tearing up. I hate that they are suffering, that they've both been kept alive when their hearts have stopped and they were ready to die. People should have a say in their quality of life.
Sorry for the tangent. I'm just feeling a little emotional about it all. And I miss my grandparents, the ones I got to know when I lived in Edmonton and up to even two years ago.
*A PVC was originally founded by Dulcie, MaryAnne and Dulcie's mom Norma at Vi's Pies' little lounge, overlooking the river valley. Tweaked to its current state, it's a shot of vodka, a shot of Cointreau, and Grower's pear cider as the mix. The newly updated version substitutes the pear cider for Grower's fantastic pomegranate cider. A few of these will make you crawl and pass out on a park bench; they're so easy to drink. Yum!
The wedding in Edmonton was a lot of fun. Like, I mean so much fun that I even looked at job postings this week in Edmonton. I really miss my great friends Dulcie and Nels (and assorted other Edmonton friends, but their wedding caused the chain reaction of feelings, so they get the shout-out), and that I didn't worry about the move hardly at all while I was there indicates I should really think about where I should concentrate on being to be happy. Does that make sense?
Dulcie, never a conventional girl, wore a '40s looking fuschia suit with pale green top and super fantastic apple green heels from J.Crew, with hair styled and makeup to match. Really, she was stunning. Nels looked pretty dapper himself in a white blazer and black tux pants. Almost like the girl who sent her sweetheart off to war, only to discover the bandleader left behind because of asthma or a bum leg or something, whom she wound up fancying more. And the wedding itself was at the Aviation Museum, so pictures were beside these historic planes that lent themselves to the feeling of the '40s.
The wedding was a civil ceremony, but I don't think I've ever had to stop myself from crying so much at a wedding because it was so lovely. The vows, really, were what had the place in tears (I've never seen so many men cry at one time before) and I foolishly didn't plan ahead well enough to stuff my cardigan with tissues before the ceremony to hand off to Dulcie as she needed them (thank goodness for her mom, who slipped me tissue after the initial tears started, before the major waterworks). Were I a flatter-chested girl, perhaps I could have stuffed my bra with reinforcements.
I tried to avoid the groom's brother's attempts to document the whole affair on video, turning to wipe the ocular fluid and snot away, yet remain a vision as far as maid-of-honours go. I suspect I failed; my eyes felt pretty puffy and green.
Of course, being able to spend time specifically with Dulcie's parents (whom I adore) and other family members on both sides that I hadn't met before was a bonus. Dulcie, especially, has the sort of family that envelops you and is a lot of fun to be around. The family drink, a PVC*, causes side-splitting stories (and I love that there's a family drink) and tests strength of character. The groom's youngest brother thought he could handle the drink. He could not. His slurring words indicated the drink kicked his butt.
I also discovered that Guitar Hero II causes RSI. My hands hurt so much after a couple of hours of playing that I swore I wouldn't play ever again.
During the trip I also managed to visit my grandparents. Talking with my mom ahead of time, I wasn't sure I wanted to go because their health has declined to the point that I thought I might not recognise them anymore, but she thought it would be a good idea. Still, the sense of obligation and the fact that I love my grandparents made me go. I kind of feel like a terrible granddaughter because I stayed for just an hour-and-a-half, talking with my grandfather while my grandmother mostly rested. I was sort of OK talking with him, despite him telling me they want to die (he'll be 99 in January, she will be 96), but when she woke up and looked at me I kind of lost it. She doesn't remember me at all and it's hard for me to hide my emotions. I didn't want to just sit there and cry, so instead I made a hasty retreat, giving them both kisses, knowing it would be the last time I see them.
I know why my mom wanted me to visit: they don't socialise at all anymore, no one visits them, and because of my grandmother's state my grandfather spends his days looking out the window with no one to talk to and no chance to do more than just sit. Any contact with the outside world might lift their spirits if only for a short time. And I just blew it by tearing up. I hate that they are suffering, that they've both been kept alive when their hearts have stopped and they were ready to die. People should have a say in their quality of life.
Sorry for the tangent. I'm just feeling a little emotional about it all. And I miss my grandparents, the ones I got to know when I lived in Edmonton and up to even two years ago.
*A PVC was originally founded by Dulcie, MaryAnne and Dulcie's mom Norma at Vi's Pies' little lounge, overlooking the river valley. Tweaked to its current state, it's a shot of vodka, a shot of Cointreau, and Grower's pear cider as the mix. The newly updated version substitutes the pear cider for Grower's fantastic pomegranate cider. A few of these will make you crawl and pass out on a park bench; they're so easy to drink. Yum!
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
halfway (between) house
Boxes surround me and I'd be concerned of being trapped under toppling boxes if I didn't secretly hope for it, if only to have a few days of forced rest.
The move went OK. I landed around 2:34pm, caught the bus and arrived at the new apartment by 3:30. Unfortunately I had to wait until 4 for my landlord to come, and by the time we finished the walk through I had to hustle to the car rental place to pick up the van. I collected my friend and his girlfriend to get a start on packing the remaining bits that I didn't get to before my trip; we managed to get a fair chunk done.
People started arriving shortly after 5:30, which wasn't such a bad thing, as it meant the apartment was half empty by the time most people showed up. We headed to the new place and unloaded fairly quickly and efficiently. We went back for another load and got pretty much everything out in 5 loads with the hands and backs of 10 people (me included). It's a good thing I didn't drink all that beer I've been storing up because it helped to smooth over the whole process. At least I think it did. People seemed happy when they left.
I was not. I still had to go back to the old house and fill up the van with all the stuff I didn't want, which thankfully didn't take as long because my friend and his girlfriend helped. They also convinced me to go for a late dinner; I realised I hadn't eaten since 11am and it was nearly 11pm. I wound up staying up until 1am anyway because I had to get stuff ready for the cable guy at 8am.
Today was a pretty long day as well. After the cable guy finished hooking up my connections, I headed out on the road. First stop was the bottle depot to get rid of the empties from my apartment and Chris' (he'd been hoarding his as well) so I could have money for gas for the van. Then I went to the Sally Ann to try to donate all the unwantables. They took most of it, but not all, which meant I had to head down to the transfer station in South Vancouver (thanks for the tip, Randi). It cost me $6 to get rid of the rest of the stuff, including all those cassettes I debated about. I didn't feel like searching around for a place to take them, so decided to dump them. Crap. Then I replaced the gas I used and drove back to the rental place to drop off the van. Thankfully I called into work in the morning to see if I could go in for just the night shift because I wouldn't have made it in.
I stopped at Liberty for baked treats to congratulate myself for getting something done.
After work tonight I went to the old apartment to start the cleaning. Frick, it's going to take forever to get it clean. I stayed until after 11pm tonight and will go over after work tomorrow to clean until it's done so I can give back the keys and not pay for the stupid hydro anymore. I can't do anything more at the new house until the old house is dealt with. Guh.
Will update on better things soon, like the last week before the moving crap. Maybe after I finish cleaning...
The move went OK. I landed around 2:34pm, caught the bus and arrived at the new apartment by 3:30. Unfortunately I had to wait until 4 for my landlord to come, and by the time we finished the walk through I had to hustle to the car rental place to pick up the van. I collected my friend and his girlfriend to get a start on packing the remaining bits that I didn't get to before my trip; we managed to get a fair chunk done.
People started arriving shortly after 5:30, which wasn't such a bad thing, as it meant the apartment was half empty by the time most people showed up. We headed to the new place and unloaded fairly quickly and efficiently. We went back for another load and got pretty much everything out in 5 loads with the hands and backs of 10 people (me included). It's a good thing I didn't drink all that beer I've been storing up because it helped to smooth over the whole process. At least I think it did. People seemed happy when they left.
I was not. I still had to go back to the old house and fill up the van with all the stuff I didn't want, which thankfully didn't take as long because my friend and his girlfriend helped. They also convinced me to go for a late dinner; I realised I hadn't eaten since 11am and it was nearly 11pm. I wound up staying up until 1am anyway because I had to get stuff ready for the cable guy at 8am.
Today was a pretty long day as well. After the cable guy finished hooking up my connections, I headed out on the road. First stop was the bottle depot to get rid of the empties from my apartment and Chris' (he'd been hoarding his as well) so I could have money for gas for the van. Then I went to the Sally Ann to try to donate all the unwantables. They took most of it, but not all, which meant I had to head down to the transfer station in South Vancouver (thanks for the tip, Randi). It cost me $6 to get rid of the rest of the stuff, including all those cassettes I debated about. I didn't feel like searching around for a place to take them, so decided to dump them. Crap. Then I replaced the gas I used and drove back to the rental place to drop off the van. Thankfully I called into work in the morning to see if I could go in for just the night shift because I wouldn't have made it in.
I stopped at Liberty for baked treats to congratulate myself for getting something done.
After work tonight I went to the old apartment to start the cleaning. Frick, it's going to take forever to get it clean. I stayed until after 11pm tonight and will go over after work tomorrow to clean until it's done so I can give back the keys and not pay for the stupid hydro anymore. I can't do anything more at the new house until the old house is dealt with. Guh.
Will update on better things soon, like the last week before the moving crap. Maybe after I finish cleaning...
Saturday, August 23, 2008
the end of aural pleasures
Tonight I've been going through all music-related holdings in my personal library. This was definitely one of the parts of moving I didn't want to do. It's a bit out of sight / out of mind, but there has been more than one occasion that I thought about a CD or record I used to have that I got rid of three or four moves ago. It makes me question what I was thinking.
I've stacked a few LPs and 45s that I don't want and have a fairly substantial box 3/4 full of CDs (actually, more than 3/4 because they're above the fold line) that I wish I had more time to sell. The cassettes...
I could barely look at the cassettes because there's stuff in there that I wish I had on CD or a format more easily accessible. The hardest part about the cassettes is the mixed tapes. Up until I came back from Japan, mixed tapes were it for me. I liked poring over liner notes as I tried to make a seamless transition from song to song. When my stereo broke down it marked the death of my cassettes and I'm not sure I'll recover now that I'm tossing all but a small handful of my mixed tapes. Unless someone wants them... ?
The interviews with bands give me pause. Will I need that interview with the Inbreds for prosperity? Will listening to Don Pyle talk about the Shadowy Men be worth something some day? Does anyone care about Sally Struthers talking about everything other than South Park? I'm guessing no. Still, I struggle with throwing away perfectly good cassettes.
Does anyone buy used cassettes anymore?
I've stacked a few LPs and 45s that I don't want and have a fairly substantial box 3/4 full of CDs (actually, more than 3/4 because they're above the fold line) that I wish I had more time to sell. The cassettes...
I could barely look at the cassettes because there's stuff in there that I wish I had on CD or a format more easily accessible. The hardest part about the cassettes is the mixed tapes. Up until I came back from Japan, mixed tapes were it for me. I liked poring over liner notes as I tried to make a seamless transition from song to song. When my stereo broke down it marked the death of my cassettes and I'm not sure I'll recover now that I'm tossing all but a small handful of my mixed tapes. Unless someone wants them... ?
The interviews with bands give me pause. Will I need that interview with the Inbreds for prosperity? Will listening to Don Pyle talk about the Shadowy Men be worth something some day? Does anyone care about Sally Struthers talking about everything other than South Park? I'm guessing no. Still, I struggle with throwing away perfectly good cassettes.
Does anyone buy used cassettes anymore?
ammended
I changed my flight. I just can't make that day work the way it was set out (because, obviously, I didn't think I was going to have to move when I booked in June). Because tickets are a little cheaper now than in June, the charge was nominal and is probably worth lessening my stress level (thanks for the tip, Dulcie). I also booked a van, which means I'll be driving on the street in the afternoon on the 2nd, so I'd be cautious around Mt. Pleasant if I were you. I haven't driven a van since high school.
So, even if I have to move by myself, stuff is going to get moved. Whew.
Now back to packing and getting rid of stuff. I'm still waiting for the sense of relief as I give away things I like; I'm not there yet.
So, even if I have to move by myself, stuff is going to get moved. Whew.
Now back to packing and getting rid of stuff. I'm still waiting for the sense of relief as I give away things I like; I'm not there yet.
nosedive
I'm not sure I'm going to make it through this move, neither physically nor emotionally. I still have a week-and-a-half until the move and I'm a nervous wreck. I've been eating just one meal a day the last few days, can't sleep more than a few hours a night, and realise there just isn't enough time for me to do everything I have to do.
The friend I wind up crying to whenever we talk about it tells me to relax, that everything will work out fine. But I can't relax because I feel alone in this whole thing. I know people offer to help out with packing, saying, "If you need any help, let me know." I just can't figure out how to ask for help without putting people out. It feels selfish to ask for help. And the move itself isn't coming together at all. No one likes moving, so why would they want to move my stuff? It's not like I've been the most stellar friend lately.
My latest worry is the part where stuff has to move from place to place. I was told to rent a van to move stuff because the people I know with a truck don't want to make multiple trips back and forth ("One trip is fine."). But I can't guarantee I can get to the rental place before they close (since I'm going from the airport), which means the move probably can't happen. But I don't have any time off until the following week. But I have to be out by the end of the first week. So I've been up since 3:30am trying to figure out how to make this work and I just can't see how it can, other than changing my flight, which will cost me a chunk of money I don't really have, or seeing if the rental place will pick me up at the airport so I can get the van before they close.
I wish I could sleep, just a little bit.
The friend I wind up crying to whenever we talk about it tells me to relax, that everything will work out fine. But I can't relax because I feel alone in this whole thing. I know people offer to help out with packing, saying, "If you need any help, let me know." I just can't figure out how to ask for help without putting people out. It feels selfish to ask for help. And the move itself isn't coming together at all. No one likes moving, so why would they want to move my stuff? It's not like I've been the most stellar friend lately.
My latest worry is the part where stuff has to move from place to place. I was told to rent a van to move stuff because the people I know with a truck don't want to make multiple trips back and forth ("One trip is fine."). But I can't guarantee I can get to the rental place before they close (since I'm going from the airport), which means the move probably can't happen. But I don't have any time off until the following week. But I have to be out by the end of the first week. So I've been up since 3:30am trying to figure out how to make this work and I just can't see how it can, other than changing my flight, which will cost me a chunk of money I don't really have, or seeing if the rental place will pick me up at the airport so I can get the van before they close.
I wish I could sleep, just a little bit.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
boxed in
Where did all this paper come from? I find myself nearly pinned down by stacks and stacks of paper. Old bills, investment reports, class notes, work-related stuff... I can't even be more specific than that because the thought of looking at everything is daunting. Slow and steady may win the race, but the paper cuts may just kill me.
I've looked over my bookshelf and don't feel prepared to rid myself of many of the books. Just a handful, really. If you go by the belief that people judge you by your bookshelf, I want them to judge me in a specific way. So I'm going to keep my enormous art- and fashion-related books, my few pop culture references, my architecture-related books. I'm OK with looking vacuous and basic.
But the magazines... I'll need to figure out what to do with those.
What surprises and pleases me is that friends have volunteered to help with the packing. One friend sold me on her services when she said she has become an expert purger, paring down a house full of stuff to just a room's worth. Yet that also scares me. Actually, terrifies me probably describes it better. Coming from a family that had very little, it's hard to let go of the stuff I have because I've had to do some work for it. How can I measure how hard I've worked if I don't have anything to show for it? Polly suggested I take pictures of things I love but don't need/use, so I still have proof of them without actually having to move them around. I'm trying to wrap my head around this.
The last time my friend moved, he discovered a few boxes he hadn't touched since his previous move. Instead of opening them, he threw them out. This explains why he doesn't have any pictures of us on trips we took together and has to rely on his mother for proof that he was a small child. That is my worst nightmare.
What I'd really like to do is get rid of my futon, but when I mentioned this to my mother she grilled me on why I would do that when it's so comfortable to sleep on. (Really, she just wants to make sure she has a bed to sleep on at my house; they will not take my bed.) I fear that it will kill me or whomever has the misfortune of moving it; it has threatened and injured me on various occasions. It has lost a few of its screws and likely has a few more screws loose. Ideally I would like to get rid of the frame before the move and get a new frame after the move. I don't know how to make this happen. Anyone want a dangerous futon frame?
So, I'm trying not to let the anxiety from packing, leaving town for a week, and moving to make me a nervous wreck. It isn't going very well.
I've looked over my bookshelf and don't feel prepared to rid myself of many of the books. Just a handful, really. If you go by the belief that people judge you by your bookshelf, I want them to judge me in a specific way. So I'm going to keep my enormous art- and fashion-related books, my few pop culture references, my architecture-related books. I'm OK with looking vacuous and basic.
But the magazines... I'll need to figure out what to do with those.
What surprises and pleases me is that friends have volunteered to help with the packing. One friend sold me on her services when she said she has become an expert purger, paring down a house full of stuff to just a room's worth. Yet that also scares me. Actually, terrifies me probably describes it better. Coming from a family that had very little, it's hard to let go of the stuff I have because I've had to do some work for it. How can I measure how hard I've worked if I don't have anything to show for it? Polly suggested I take pictures of things I love but don't need/use, so I still have proof of them without actually having to move them around. I'm trying to wrap my head around this.
The last time my friend moved, he discovered a few boxes he hadn't touched since his previous move. Instead of opening them, he threw them out. This explains why he doesn't have any pictures of us on trips we took together and has to rely on his mother for proof that he was a small child. That is my worst nightmare.
What I'd really like to do is get rid of my futon, but when I mentioned this to my mother she grilled me on why I would do that when it's so comfortable to sleep on. (Really, she just wants to make sure she has a bed to sleep on at my house; they will not take my bed.) I fear that it will kill me or whomever has the misfortune of moving it; it has threatened and injured me on various occasions. It has lost a few of its screws and likely has a few more screws loose. Ideally I would like to get rid of the frame before the move and get a new frame after the move. I don't know how to make this happen. Anyone want a dangerous futon frame?
So, I'm trying not to let the anxiety from packing, leaving town for a week, and moving to make me a nervous wreck. It isn't going very well.
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