Yep, I did it. Miss neurosis made the surprising quick flight back to the East Coast, smoothly crossed the border, and made it to bed without a single thought in my often overrun head. Oh that first night back in Canada couldn`t have gone more smoothly. That`s why, I suppose, that all hell seemed to break loose after that point in time. Moving in wasn`t as bed as moving out mind you, but that wicked out of control feeling wasn`t helped by the boxes piled up in the corner.
Montreal is a beautiful, wonderful, marvelous city inhabited by a multitude of rambunctious, well, inhabitants. But bearings aside, I can`t help but feel like this is a conquer or be conquered type of situation. I've heard immigration horror stories, wrapped my mind around their likelihood, took a deep breath, and resolved to go with the flow. I just wish that calm and cool facade was a legitimate element of my personality. Instead, I am canard-ing my way through the week. Faced with the likelihood of no job soon, no money even sooner, and no computer to boot.
How I get myself into these predicaments is one question; how I get myself out is another.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Swap-scotch: Veesy Peesy!
I've been staring at the SWAP working holiday visa application sitting on my side table for over a month now. It seems as though every time I go to mail it off, I reread the requirements and realize that I have come up short on one item or another. In all actuality, the application itself has been complete for nearly five months now. That was the easy part; name, date of arrival, city, address, blah, blah,blah. It was the gathering of other obscure materials that required a bit more finesse. Official transcripts, copy of passport and proof of student status, insurance waiver with attached proof of benefits, oh and money, of course.
The money for the visa ($400) took about two months to gather after scheming and bucket scrapping on rent and utilities, but I gathered it all up into a nice little package currently sitting in my checking account. Now, I just have to get my life together!
Slowly but surely I'll have to part with this mass amalgamation of crap, stuff, belongings that seems to tie me to this city. Thinking back on how ridiculous it seemed for Carrie Bradshaw to cling to her rent control apartment ( which in real life would probably be half the size), I can say that I kind of get it now. Who are we without our home? As a bit of a hermit, my apartment is like a glove that I've broken in to fit me just right, so much so that I can't remember what it looked like before I took possession of the space. When every piece of my furniture, dirt, art, and smell is taken out of this home of mine, it will become foreign once again. This place empty will be no more me than as if I had never been here. And there is the rub.
I'm packing up my bags with this knowledge in hand. Most of us who brim with wanderlust know this fact all to well. We settle in, squish our feet in the wet sand of our dwelling, only to wash off and move on. Too many beaches for one lifetime. Without time to contemplate the what-ifs, don't most doubts become inaudible.
So with a smidge over a month left until departure, I hope I can keep the world abreast with all of my relocation adventures, and really get into the nitty gritty of my new life. Feet first, dutifully.
The money for the visa ($400) took about two months to gather after scheming and bucket scrapping on rent and utilities, but I gathered it all up into a nice little package currently sitting in my checking account. Now, I just have to get my life together!
Slowly but surely I'll have to part with this mass amalgamation of crap, stuff, belongings that seems to tie me to this city. Thinking back on how ridiculous it seemed for Carrie Bradshaw to cling to her rent control apartment ( which in real life would probably be half the size), I can say that I kind of get it now. Who are we without our home? As a bit of a hermit, my apartment is like a glove that I've broken in to fit me just right, so much so that I can't remember what it looked like before I took possession of the space. When every piece of my furniture, dirt, art, and smell is taken out of this home of mine, it will become foreign once again. This place empty will be no more me than as if I had never been here. And there is the rub.
I'm packing up my bags with this knowledge in hand. Most of us who brim with wanderlust know this fact all to well. We settle in, squish our feet in the wet sand of our dwelling, only to wash off and move on. Too many beaches for one lifetime. Without time to contemplate the what-ifs, don't most doubts become inaudible.
So with a smidge over a month left until departure, I hope I can keep the world abreast with all of my relocation adventures, and really get into the nitty gritty of my new life. Feet first, dutifully.
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