Rooted, I used to think.

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Purgatory - Sunday, Feb. 10, 2019
Day Fifteen - Saturday, Feb. 09, 2019
Day Fourteen - Saturday, Feb. 09, 2019
Day Thirteen - Thursday, Feb. 07, 2019
Atonement - Thursday, Feb. 07, 2019

Thursday, Feb. 20, 2003 @ 1:46 pm
Looong One

I'm laughing at myself for making a premature decision a couple months ago.

I remember saying with conviction that I could never live at home again. I guess if I had a choice things would be different, but when this appears in your inbox and your contract is due for renewal on May 1st, you have to suck up all your independence and scamper home, tail between your legs:

Sales have not met projected targets, especially in the months of December and January... To help us through the next few months we are instituting a company-wide hiring freeze, stopping all non-revenue generating travel and reviewing all expenditures carefully.

When I was told last week that they could no longer promise to renew my contract, I feared that their reason of 'budget' was an excuse. This email, received from the Big Cheese today, reassures me that while I am dispensable, I am not completely unwanted (?).

So I stayed at home for the last few nights. I needed to gauge the stress levels into which I will be immersing myself come May 1st. It's not so bad. Mind you, I have been out of the house during the Deadly Hours of 7-10pm. That's when my Dad starts to pick on my sister and the arguments escalate until someone goes to bed. Or so I hear. The arguments rarely happen when I'm there. It will be the summer, after all, and who stays home on patio-friendly summer evenings?

The time at home has been... relaxing. Bottomless Cupboards that magically refill with food. Leftovers in the fridge. Laundry service on Thursdays and Mondays. I even got a massage after dinner last night when I complained to Mom that the only downside of not being in a relationship is not getting back rubs.

I'm concerned that this is not a step forward in maturity and independence. Is this a back-turn in my life, or merely a wash of the tide that inevitably brings change, renewal and growth?

Postcard moments shuffle through my brain right now. Change of place heightens my level of alertness to an almost painful level.

-Walking across the Lion's Gate, a floatplane cruising low over the spans
-The sunlight reflecting sheets of orange off the glass of the apartments that hug the seawalk around Dunderave
-The train rushing, hurtling past above me, and the engineer smiling and waving down to my open mouthed delighted stare
-The line-up at the passport office where I tried to guess where everyone was planning on going, where I noted everyone's shoes
-Guster: "I am scared of the things upcoming / And I want for the things I don't have / Cannot stand to be one of many / I'm not what they are" But it's not about the lyrics, really, it's about the barefoot bongo drummer.
-Jogging through the rain-soaked forest in the early morning light, the salal leaves reflecting white from their rainwater lacquered gloss, the wooden bridges slick and fragrant, the mud sucking
-Doing a check of the water lines in the avian unit, finding a CPQ with her wingband caught on a hook on a dangling chain, helping her and setting her free, helping her steady herself to drink and hydrate, settingherfreesettingherfree
-Sitting in with Dad in his office boardroom drinking tea watching the CBC morning news on the 6-foot tall flat-screen TV before anyone else has arrived for work. The railyard stretches out below us, the giraffe-like container cranes yawn through the rising sun, and I swivel around in the Dr. Evil-esque leather high-backed chair
-Sitting next to Julie, my pre-school friend who recently added me to her MSN list, watching a movie, laughing at the sounds that beavers make (hehehe's sputter from the other side of the room) and we giggle at the stupidity of everything around us just like we did in grade 8.
-Realising (after the beaver laughter has subsided) that all 6 people in this room are going home with each other, and I'm the 7th wheel.
-Waking up from a dream about her. I have no idea what it was about. I think there was a yellow backhoe present in that one too.
-The sad hilarity of how my driverís side buckle wonít click anymore, how I have to stretch the belt over to the passenger side buckle until I bother to fix it
-Sitting around the living room, all four family members, watching Joe. Dad says, ďHeís talking about his feelings. He must be gay.Ē Then later he says quietly to me, ďI miss having you around, Big Bubba.Ē (Donít you wish your childhood nickname stuck around an extra 15 years?)

And those are the pages that are flipping through my head.

I canít sleep at night anymore. Iím excited about Europe. I wonder what itís like to fall asleep in Paris: What does it sound like out in the darkened streets? What does an evening in Italy smell like? Should I start out in London or just go straight to Paris? What about Spain?

842 words. Thatís a good number.

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