At midnight, I was sitting on the couch upstairs, playing around on my computer. Mr. Katje’s folks were watching Downton Abbey, and Mr. Katje was pouring us glasses of Martinelli’s Sparkling Apple Cider. We raised our glasses in a toast — “Happy new year! Fuck off, 2013!” — and drank. Then I got up and went over to the other couch to give Mr. Katje a very chaste midnight kiss — as he’d had some sugar-free Halls several hours before, and I did not want to risk any lingering aspartame passing to my mouth.
It was a relatively quiet night — no fireworks, just some neighbors banging pots and pans. The cats barely woke up to register the passing of midnight.
Now it’s 4 am. Mr. Katje and I have not yet gone to sleep — he is looking at his “Random Picks” list on Netflix and saying “I feel like I should be insulted” because it’s populated by Barney and more crap he’d never watch. It’s amusing, and I am sitting here laughing at him.
I am currently moving, and the entire process — while exhausting — is definitely one of Life’s Mysteries.
The definition of Mystery: an event that only those who have been initiated into it understand fully; it’s generally difficult if not impossible to describe the Mystery, which is why it’s a Mystery.
There are various Mysteries in different religions, but there are secular ones too — the mysteries we go through as members of a society that places importance on those things. Moving, in our North American society, is generally more of a Mystery the first time one goes through it on one’s own — I’m speaking of the “moving out of your parents’ house for the first time” move, not any ones you may have done as a family in your youth. (Those Mysteries are different and have less universal meaning attached.)
I’ve moved several times at this point – I first moved out of the house when I was 18, and have lived on my own more or less steadily since (minus a few moves back to Mom’s place to save money). This current move is another one back to my mother, because now that I am out of school until January at least, I am not on loans until then either — and I cannot afford the rent at my beautiful one-bedroom basement suite.
Continue reading “Cloaking myself in portability and the Mystery of Moving”