My first month into university

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One month later, I finally remembered to update this silly thing. My first month was an absolute whirlwind. I had a blast during the Frosh week: it was the perfect start to the year. My favourite event was probably the scavenger hunt all around Toronto. I got the chance to see some of life inside the scary city. I also bonded with my friends, and made a few new ones, too! I’ll be sure to sit down and make an actual post about Frosh week once I get some of that rare free time.

I also moved into my room, and met my roommate. We were both 100% terrified, and for good reason. We are utter opposites, and I love it. She’s very quiet, and I’m very loud. She likes science, and I like languages. However, there’s one thing in common: we’re both oddballs. We, amazingly enough, get along very well. In a sense, she’s kind of like the sister I never had, minus all the fighting and craziness. I’m very happy that we were roomed together. My side of the room, however, is usually a mess. However, there is a very good reason for this!….
I sprained my ankle very badly the second week of school. I was at the gym with a friend (my second roommate, because she spends so much time in my room she might as well live there) at 7 in the morning. We were on the treadmills when we stepped off. Now, for some reason, the cords were exposed. And they were right beside a platform around a foot high. I tripped over the cord, then fell off the platform by kind of rolling off. Apparently it was like a barrel roll. I honestly thought I was going to just walk it off. Nope, I had to be driven back up to my dorm room by the staff. I sent a picture to my mom, who thought it was broken and insisted I go to the hospital. So, Sam (second roommate) and I hopped into a taxi and off we went. We were both in remarkably high spirits, even though I was in absolute agony. A few xrays and painkillers later, it was discovered I have a really, REALLY bad sprain. I am on crutches now, for another 2-4 weeks, because 2 weeks on them isn’t enough!

My classes are going alright. Honestly, I’m pretty worried about them even though I know I shouldn’t be. It’s an awful nagging feeling that you’re not smart enough. Its incredibly easy to fall behind in readings, and its a challenge to keep up. However, I know with proper time management, I will be just fine.

tl;dr I moved into university, sprained my ankle, and worry about classes.

ankle unnamed

First leg of moving: complete

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Friday was the big day to begin moving, as I wrote earlier. And so, Friday is the day I began to move. 

I woke up startlingly early for a summer day, and was soon pressed with the realization that this is the last time I’ll wake up in this bed for a long, long time. So I fell asleep to relive that moment. After I completely woke up, my morning was a whirlwind of packing and cleaning and packing and cleaning. I made the very important decision to bring some cat paraphernalia my best friend gave me: a blanket with pictures of kittens on it, and a cat shaped rug. I wasn’t going to, but who can resist some kitty stuffs?

My mom had a very busy day working, and had to stay a bit longer. That was okay, I wanted to say goodbye to my Dad. He had a certain bitter sadness to him, but refused to cry. I’ve only ever seen him cry four times: when his grandparents passed away, at his uncle’s funeral, and when I graduated. I could tell that me leaving was taxing on him, but it was too late for that. We went for a car ride to drop my mom off at her next client’s house, and waited outside. Her five dogs, two pugs, two chihuahuas, and one mutt, soon noticed us. The mutt ran off, but we were soon being circled by the pugs, who would jump up onto the hood whenever they wanted. It was like Sharknado, my dad later recounted to my mom, but with pugs. It was at that moment that I realized how much I would miss him.

We kept the goodbyes brief and formal. I gave my dad and brother one hug each, and told them both to stay out of trouble. I then picked up my cat, Spooky, and snuggled him deeply. He purred contently, and nuzzled deeper. It broke my heart when I had to put him down and shut the door for the last time. I almost feel sadder leaving my cat behind, as he does not understand English. He doesn’t know that I’ll be back in December. What he does know is that I’m gone. Humans at least understand this, and are able to use Skype or call me.

Driving to my grandparents’ house, around 2.5 hours away, was an absolute nightmare. We were late because we had to fuss over the turtles, ensure they were okay, and do some errand-running. I then spent a long time worrying the turtles weren’t breathing so I had to poke them to ensure they were simply asleep. They were. The weather was atrocious. It was very dark, rainy, and foggy. It took a lot of effort to even see the lines. At one point, it was nearly impossible. 

Yet, I am here. I must end this now, for my journey is not complete. I will be waking up at 5 am for breakfast and to pack up the truck, then will drive the 14 hours to Toronto. Then, maybe I’ll do a proper post. The turtles are a bit confused now, just waking up. I didn’t realize their new platform had no suction cups (oops) so I had to twist-tie it to their makeshift tank. They’re swimming around now, healthy, but confused.

tl;dr I began my trip to Toronto, the weather sucked.

Days til moving: 0

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I’m hoping this will be a brief post, as I’m very tired from a killer going away party I had with my friends yesterday.

Tonight, I will pack up my last box, purse, and turtles, and hop in a car. I will drive to my grandparents’, sleep there, and when I wake up, I will drive across the province. I will say goodbye to everything I know and neatly pack up my old life in a box. I might return to that old life, but I might lose the box. My checklist says I’m mostly done. According to my scribbly scrawl, I still have to call my old job’s union for retro pay, grab my memory stick from the television, charge all my electronics, and pack up all my pills, vitamins, and toiletries. According to this nice little list, I’m ready to go.

I don’t know if I’m ready.

If you asked me two months ago if I was ready for school, I’d say “hell yeah!” and complain that I was ready to get up and go. If you ask me this now, I will nervously smile and chuckle. I keep finding things to do. Little things, like “I can’t move yet! I haven’t had anything from so many local restaurants!” or big things, like “I haven’t found a job in Toronto yet”. I try to convince myself that I should stay in my comfort zone, and I know that I have to go. My home has nothing left to offer me, nor this city. I have to move on, but it’ll be very hard. It’s pretty scary! I have no family in Toronto. I’ve always been incredibly close to my mother, and to just up and leave seems absurd. I have no friends in Toronto. I will, but it’ll be hard at first. Worse of all, it’s change. Change is a dirty word to me, unless you’re slipping me lunch money or talking about clothes. I hate change. I find comfort in regularity, in waking up every morning knowing what the day will bring me. My days, months, years, my life is a constant ebb and flow. T.S Eliot sums this up in my favourite poem, “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock”:

For I have known them all already, known them all:
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons.
 
And it is true. My day is measured out in little chunks, hours carved into my schedule that dictate how my life proceeds. Change has always been hard on me. I hated high school probably the most. It is so different than elementary! I refused to talk to anyone for nearly a year. I threw myself in my studies, and slept. I was never happy in my first year. I eventually got kind of used to it, then I graduated it. I tell myself I have to adjust quicker, because the same thing happens every semester. My classes change and I hate everything. I lock myself up for a week or two, then force myself to be okay again. I fear this will happen again when I leave, but much, much worse.
 
So I pull out an old, crumpled paper I wrote many months ago. The title, written strangely enough in pencil, is fading.
Reasons to go to Glendon/out of town
1. Get to visit my boyfriend more often. This is true. I’ll see him a few times a month, maybe more to help with my turtles. After 3 years of long distance dating, it’d be nice to visit more than twice a year.
2. I hate most of my graduating class. I angrily frown and get a bitter taste in my mouth whenever I read it. I don’t have a lot of good memories with them.
3. Looks better than the local university! That is very true, and I remind myself that it’ll look pretty on my resume and I’ll be in a school focused on my own major, NOT forestry.
4. I get more freedom. I love my family, but we drive each other up the wall. My brother and I are especially fun to witness fight. Still, I’ll miss…. most…. of my family.
5. I learn to be independent. That is self explanatory. I think I’m decently independent, but I’ll probably learn that I’m not very soon enough.
I’m sure there are more, wore off by constant folding and unfolding. Those, however, are the main points, other than the main points of liking the school. 
It’s almost 2:30 in the morning here, and I can feel my eyelids growing heavy. I know I’ll be okay in the end, but until then, I fret over moving.
 
tl;dr I worry about moving, thinking that I’ll choke up in fear and lock myself up as I usually do. I feel sad about leaving my new home.

3 days until moving (again!)

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I will be moving out of my brand new home in three days, after living here for 3 months.

I’m not too sad, honestly. I lived in my old house for 16 years, so I’m still adjusting to this new room. I still wake up sometimes, baffled as to where on Earth I am. I still cruise by my old house, silently fuming that the new owners have changed my childhood place. I occasionally wonder if I’ll ever feel as comfortable in any houses as I did on 1511 Georgina Avenue. The first night I stayed here was after 16 hours of hard labour with no breaks. I dropped off a load in the spare room, which is still being used for storage of our unpacked boxes, and cursed the house.

“You’re not my home, and never will be!” I sneered, half delirious from thirst and exhaustion.  

I still haven’t really adjusted to this house, honestly. My room was fully unpacked. I had all my books and figurines back. I even got some new things, like a cat shaped rug. However, this house still seems strangely foreign to me and I am not adjusted to it. I can tell you about all the quirks of this house: there are exactly 13 steps to go upstairs, there’s a small bump in the floor by the laundry room. The old owners burned a huge hole in the counter and covered it with an artfully placed cutting board. The pantry door squeaks just loud enough to alert my Dad whenever I want a snack late at night. I can also still tell you about the quirks from the old house. The paint was peeled in my bedroom from where the bunk bed rubbed the wall, and I would peel it ever so slightly when I was bored or upset. There was a beautiful hardwood floor stained with paint, then covered with a plush pink carpet to help us move. There’s a small amount of cream cheese on the ceiling in the kitchen from when my Mom and I tried to make icing but turned the mixer on way too high, and sent it ricocheting up. As we are both very short and had very high ceilings, we could never really get it down. I like this new house, but it is not my home.

Luckily for me, I am moving again! This time, it will be to Glendon. Glendon is in Toronto, or about 18 hours from little old Thunder Bay. It is also the small York, on the original campus. I’m…. not very fond of Toronto. I find it very big, and where it’s larger, there’s more potential to get lost. When I get lost, all hell breaks loose. I freak out and am a generally unhappy camper. During the weekends, I will make a two hour trek on buses and subways to visit my boyfriend and turtles, whom he will be co-adopting with me. I will be mostly living in Wood residence, the smaller of the two dormitories. To be more specific, as I just found out, I will be in house A on the 3rd floor. The quiet floor. Dun dun dunnnnn.

I am not a quiet person. I can be very, very loud. This obviously represents a problem. What does quiet floor entail? I have to shut up earlier? The normal quiet hours begin around 11 pm on weeknights. Does this mean I have to shut up at 10? 9? 8? What does shutting up entail? Do I have to sit around and do nothing? Can I use my laptop? Can I type? I’m also a very enthusiastic typer. I don’t try to, I just have a very clicky keyboard. Of course, if I typed very slowly it’d be quieter, however then I may as well not type at all. At 3 in the morning, my WPM is 54. It would be faster if I didn’t have to worry about a test, but it is what it is. It is also possible that I can use my touchscreen keyboard, but again, very slow.

Am I allowed to get up at 3 in the morning to have a snack on the quiet floor?

I’m getting, as evidenced, to the important parts: typing and food. I suppose if worse comes to worst I can befriend people from other houses and/or floors and borrow their room for when I want to whine, type loudly, and eat crunchy foods late at night. Of course, I could also learn to shut my mouth.

Tl;dr I am moving into a new house, the second within 3 months. I wonder if I will ever find a new “home”. I stress about living on a quiet floor.