2004-04-01

OK, it�s officially two months before I move to England, and I am officially getting the jump on the Mother of All Freak-Outs. Moving is complicated and crazy-making, and I�m genuinely convinced that my head will somehow implode if I have to part with all my books. Also, income tax and health care and bank accounts, oh my! Seriously: holy fucking fuck. Has anyone out there done this before? How did you survive?

It�s kind of like living with a terminal illness, except marginally less depressing. I can�t make any long-term plans, and every time I see something I�d like to buy I have to stop and think, �Why bother? I can�t take it with me.� People in Manchester are going to think Canada is a Third World country, or at least seriously fashion-deprived, as I step off the plane in the bedraggled scraps of clothing I�ve been wearing for over a year and my sad, worn-out, frumpy shoes. My kingdom for new shoes!

I�m whittling my possessions down to nothing, which is sort of cathartic but mostly painful. Is there anything more depressing than throwing out photos? I have millions of utterly useless photos � doubles, and things that seemed �artistic� when I was in high school, and oh my God I never looked like that, kill me; but the act of throwing a photograph, any photograph, in the trash is heavy with melancholy somehow � so long, memories! � and feels like it should be accompanied by a glass of whiskey and a groaning saxophone soundtrack. Neither of those things being forthcoming, I performed my nostalgic purge to an accompaniment of Star Trek reruns, which has twice the pathetic with half the poetry. I�m throwing my life in the trash. It�s not like I was using it, but still, there are things I�m going to miss.