Who would have thought that moving would be such an emotional toll? (He asked sarcastically.")
I never realise how much crap I have until it’s time to move. This is the first time I’m moving into a place that isn’t already empty, and having donated 2 industrial garbage bags of clothing, DVDs, and books… I have slightly less crap. Last night I couldn’t sleep for half of it, going over in my head of what is less in my studio up in Whistler, and the logistics of getting there, bringing things back, navigating the Vancouver traffic and the Mad Max levels of downtown (with less dust and more Teslas)… needless to say it was a long night. Interestingly, when i did get some sleep, my subconscious took full advantage of what little time I had for dreaming by throwing everything at the wall and seeing what stuck. In this case, touring a 90s pop culture museum curated by Weird Al Yankovic alongside a bloated Marlon Brando impersonator that was more like Tony Clifton, some demented version of Sweet Caroline as the soundtrack.
Told you it was weird.
Anyway. The reason I wanted to write today was because I had to drive out to Function (a 10 minute highway drive with no traffic) twice in a morning: once to buy lawn bags, and once to deposit the now-full bags of leaves to the only place in town. I love driving but not when it has a purpose. So as a treat and motivation, I got a coffee (head to Camp if you’re in the area) and instead of going straight home, I drove around different neighbourhoods. I spent 15 years in my hometown, and 18 years here in Whistler, so I am understandably nervous about leaving. But then, so many others have left or are leaving, all I see are ghosts of my young life.
I suppose this is just a way to unravel the anxiety like a rats’-nest of yarn. I know I’ll be ok, I already have a support network in the city, but it’ll just take some getting used to. After all, my mother moved herself and three children across the ocean at forty, so a highway should be a cake walk.