The night before I departed for London I was a stressed out mess. The cause? Well, that stupid volcano in Iceland decided to spew forth its wrath over the entire isle of England. In a state of comedic agitation I would obsessively reload the BBC website in the hopes that I would see good news. But as each minute ticked by – one airport after the next was being closed. I felt like I was very slowly watching my vacation get flushed down the pooper. I went to bed not knowing what to expect next. While I was asleep, Heathrow airport shut its doors and no flights were allowed in or out.
Now generally speaking, a delayed flight isn’t such a bad thing. People reschedule all the time. So why the stressed out nonsense?
Well…lets explain how the first few days of my vacation were supposed to go:
Monday at 5:20am – Leave for London (connection made in Toronto)
Monday at 9:30pm – Arrive in London
Monday at 10:30pm – 12:30am – Have sex
Tuesday at 9:30am – Have sex
Tuesday at 10am – Eat Bacon
Tuesday at 12:30pm – Catch train to Brussels
Now if my flight was delayed for any reason – there was a good chance I would miss my train to Brussels. Another factor was that the person I was staying with would have to go to Brussels no matter what. With or without me. So quite literally if my plane did not get out on time – I was stranded. I would have no where to stay, I would have lost my non-refundable ticket to Brussels AND if I was delayed for more than 2 days I would have had to reschedule my entire trip completely because I HAD to be back by the end of the month to move.
But guess what kiddies….
After a sleepless night, I rolled over and tentatively checked the status of my flight. Everything was still a go. And even more important – Heathrow was open! It really was a WankerGirl miracle! The people at St. John’s airport warned me that things could still go tits up but the outlook was good. I just might make it to London! I remember smiling at a sea of Air Canada employees as they all gave me the thumbs up and wished me good luck.
By the time I actually arrived in London – I think I was still reeling from pre-flight stress. I honestly could not believe that it was happening. That I was once again back in London.
Fortunately, greeting me at the airport was a smirking man. I gave him a hug. He gave me a diet coke.
All other pre-scheduled activities went off without a hitch 🙂
Moving sucks balls.
OK, that statement might not be poetry but there’s no way you can deny it. Moving sucks even bigger and stinkier balls when you have to do it unexpectedly and begrudgingly.
As you know – I recently had to move. When I first found this out, I was so shocked/stunned/gobsmacked that for around 30 minutes – I was actually at a loss for words. Me. Speechless. Imagine it.
When I first started looking for a place I felt a little lost and extremely stressed. I knew I wanted to remain downtown but I also knew that nice apartments were rare and the more I tried not to think about it – the more I obsessed. The number of times I hit refresh on the local classifieds website was comparable to a teenage boy looking at porn. But trust me – the search for real estate rarely ends with a “happy ending”.
As a friend once told me – when looking for a new place you suck on a lot of lemons before you hit some sweet lemonade. But in retrospect I think he was talking about his penis.
Anyway, in a series of unexpected events – I did end up finding a lovely little spot downtown. The only catch was I had to take the apartment then and there – which meant me working on a very tight schedule. I had already planned a trip to London (which I will talk about next time) and for everything to work out correctly – I would have to move 2 days after I returned. It seemed like a mildly insane idea at the time. The reality…was fucking psychotic.
So right before I went to London I got most of my packing done and I hired movers and I really set myself up for a speedy transition.
Oh what a fool am I!
I returned from London on Saturday, I had to finish packing on Sunday – the movers arrived Monday morning and by the end of Tuesday I was resembling something similar to a schizophrenic hobo. The entire moving experience was exhausting. I was so tired that my mother actually told me I was slurring my words.
In the midst of the move I managed to lock myself out of my new apartment. Which led to me having to find a locksmith on a Sunday night. I cracked off four of my fingernails. I bruised myself 4 times on my right forearm. I got into a fight with my cable company when they failed to show up for my installation appointment. And as we speak I am currently surrounded by a sea of garbage, old furniture and one gorgeous yet broken lamp. A trip to the city dump is scheduled for the morning. Party time mother fuckers!
But now that the hump of insanity is over – how do I feel?
Fucking exhausted is how I feel. Leaving my old apartment was sad. I didn’t want to go. But since the move was so ridiculously stressful – ironically when it was time to say goodbye to my old apartment – it didn’t seem that bad. I was just so god damn happy it was over.
Actually….I remember the very last thing I did in that apartment before I left.
Before saying my official goodbye, I opened the back door and took one last look at the backyard. I noticed a towel on the grass. A towel that had fallen off the patio above. This towel was used to wipe up the bathroom floor when the toilet overflowed. This towel had now become a breeding ground to worms.
That’s right folks…the last thing I will remember about my old apartment is throwing away a poo/pee infected towel that was now covered in worms. A fitting and beautiful goodbye 🙂
But right now….I am in my new apartment. I think it has a pretty kitchen and I think I just might stay here for a while.
Insert smiley face.