So. This is how our last day in Toronto went.

We woke early, determined to pack the van to fullest capacity in plenty of time for Tuesday's departure. The day passed with the kind of quotidian crap that attends any move, the only notable moment being when the Boy & I managed to argue about baking sheets for a good 20 minutes. It was easily the stupidest fight we've had in our married life. The thing was, we knew that even while we were fighting; yet we were unable to stop being idiots. But eventually we got tired of stupidity. It happens.

Lunch with my family was an interesting experience. The food was first rate, although the mood was a bit patchy - my mom was going on about 4 hours of sleep, and my brother & father are always ready for a fight. Still, the food smoothed over a lot. By the time we left, we were actually giggling. I felt light, relieved - another social obligation discharged and I got to pay for it all so it was truly my thanks to the family.

Unfortunately, I was sick almost immediately upon our return to the house. My parents have tentatively advanced the theory that I'm pregnant. Gah. I don't even want to think about it. I'm just stressed. I'm just stressed. I'm just stressed. It's not like I don't have enough reasons. Nevertheless.

The Boy did all of the packing. I'm not sure how this happened - but I do know that if you leave the Boy alone with certain tasks, he'll just finish them up himself. I wasn't paying close attention to anything except selecting the goods to be packed & completing last minute details of my own move out of the house. It's a fine thing when you return to awareness and a big chore is done for you. He's a good guy.

* * *

We had set up dinner at Hernando's for seven p.m., and of course we were late. It just wouldn't be a party unless I was running behind, or so I like to tell myself. By the time we got there, we were greeted with the cheering sight of a large table filled to capacity with family & friends. Much beer was drunk, many nachos were disposed of. The table was actually large enough to require a location change to talk to everyone, so we flitted around the place like happy insects, forming, dissolving & reforming groups fluidly. Scott was there, although he seemed pretty upset and he was silent most of the time. I was glad he was there, though - the recent split between Stacy & Scott has slightly complicated my leave-taking from the city, as I didn't know if he'd want a phone call or visit...or if he'd be upset with me for trying. Having him at the table was a risk-free way for me to say goodbye, which I appreciated.

Lots of wedding pictures were whipped out & passed around, to the delight of most present. St. Stephen gave us our wedding presents, which were nothing short of spectacular - a book of punk rock flyer art for me and the Pet Sounds Box Set for the Boy. As the Boy's recent roommate, it was a bit of an emotional parting for St.St. He loves us both in good measure.

(One of the great things about the whole night was that I had the love of my friends affirmed in lots of subtle ways, leaving me with a calm sense of well-being. I feel like I have something to come back to in 2 years.)

"You must have been the child of a washing machine."
"Yeah. My other parent was one of those birds that bobs up & down to drink water."

- an approximation of my last real conversation with dav

* * *

The dancing portion of the night was wild & fun, although I have to say for the sake of honesty that it was more fun 2 weeks ago when I was high. I was wearing the only club outfit that I hadn't already packed - a too small party dress that pinches my sides & constrains my breathing but makes me look like a bona fide goth princess. I was in increasing physical pain as the night progressed, not only from the dress but from the exhausting effects of the past weeks. During "Temple of Love," I felt a sharp pain in my chest, but since it came from my right side I knew it wasn't my heart. So I kept on dancing, having no other alternative on my last night in Toronto. At 1 a.m. "Take On Me" came on, and I had absolutely no interest in dancing whatsoever - and so it was unmistakably time to go home.

(Amusing sidebar - yesterday Nic complained that dj shannon didn't play his requests at the wedding: "Time After Time" and "Take On Me." When I heard the song in the Cave, I wondered vaguely where my brother was - he'd come to collect us an hour & a half ago and had subsequently disappeared. As I climbed up to the deejay platform to wish shannon goodbye, I found my brother up there - the source behind the Aha! now playing. It's all about loops, kids.)

But before we departed, it was all sweaty dancing fun and kisses. Honestly. I kissed so many boys & girls...it's like those birthday nights at Ein-stein's 4 years ago where the beer ran freely and I kissed everyone in sight. Some goodbyes were emotional, some simple, all were real. But I'm not feeling alone, at least not right now.

Leaving doesn't feel real yet. I've been moving so fast lately, I suppose I'll have to wait for the loneliness to catch up. Tonight was like storing up vitamin C for a cold not yet caught.

< to * fro >

diary * me * who * mail