I remembered a comment he had made when things were at the end. "At least they have some kind of spark, unlike us."
I thought about that on the way to the train. My heels made a satisfying clunk, clunk, clunk on the sidewalk as I walked.
I had said, "You can't tell me your parents feel exactly the same way about each other as they did when they got married. Love changes." I know that's how it went, because I just re-read the emails. I wonder when I'll delete them.
Clunk, clunk, clunk: I can't imagine what else but a spark would make me impulsively marry someone within a week of being asked.
Clunk, clunk, clunk: Paperwork.
I didn't care about a dress. I didn't care about a bouquet. I didn't care about having my hair done. I didn't care about a cake. Kellie cared. Kellie made sure I had those things.
I'll never say it meant nothing, but I think I will concede this point. Perhaps they did have some kind of spark. Unlike us.
Now I have a spark in my hand. This spark acts differently; I'm a little bit afraid of it. Probably, that's exactly how I should feel about fire.
- Chloe's green collar with bone-shaped tag engraved with address of happy house
- Christmas ornament I made as wedding favours, it used to hang in our kitchen year-round
- Note book filled with lists I made while preparing to leave Hamilton
- Topper from wedding cake Kellie made us
- Kevin's sunglasses
- Beaded keychain Mackenzie made for Kevin
- Some of Kevin's cologne
- Two rolls of exposed Ilford film, unquestionably shot by Kevin
What I was looking for when I found all that: A Glade Plug-in.
Did I find one: No.
Did I clean the fuck out of my apartment afterwards: Yes.
Last night, I hung out with Kathleen and then we went to see some music. I had planned to walk down to the Annex so I pulled out this old MEC bag that I love because it is super low fuss and great for walking. I didn't really have time to clean it out before I headed out. Oh, but on the way home, when I was digging around for lip balm ...
List of Bullshit Stuff I Found in my Bag
- hair from my dog
- Monthly Toronto-to-Hamilton commuter train passes for the months of February and March
- business card of dude who photographed the house on Morton Road for MLS
- grocery list designed to make someone else happy
- Cream Savers candy, from the last time I visited my in-laws in PA
I don't want any of that life back. But I'm pretty tired of it randomly smacking me in the face when I least expect it.
She was quiet about it, but I noticed Deconstructionist hooked me up with a link.
A short list of reasons why Deconstructionist is cool as hell:
I chased a squirrel out of my kitchen this morning.
Back in the winter, it had come up in a conversation with my building superintendent, Jen, that the previous tenants of my apartment had had the pleasure of a squirrel busting in through the screen in the open kitchen window.
"Oh, so that's how that hole got there," I deduced.
"Their cat killed it."
It's occurred to me many times that I should get the screen fixed. In fact, in my hallway closet, one could locate all the materials necessary to repair the screen (thanks, Dad). But I'm pretty lazy, and I've lived here for two full summers now without incident, nary even a bug flying in, so I have never bothered addressing the situation.
Until that is, this morning, when I heard a strange clinking going on elsewhere in the apartment. My careful consideration of whether or not I should still be applying shiny, gold bronzer to my cheeks in light of the fallish temperature interrupted, I went to investigate. My first inclination was to blame the cats, who are generally the source of all mysterious clinking that goes on, but they were sitting on separate couches, looking fairly innocuous and in all seriousness, somewhat alarmed.
Next, I stepped gingerly into the kitchen. Although I was not wearing my glasses, the bushy black tail escaping through the hole in the screen was impossible to mistake. Now, with the screen safely between myself and the rodent, I walked brazenly over to the window to stare that motherfucker down. There he sat on the outside sill, staring me down right back, wriggling his nose and eating a plum that had previously resided in a bowl on my counter.
Clever. I almost felt a little sorry closing down the glass panes. Almost.
But it wasn't just about the giant inflatable penis. We also had serious discussions, including, but not limited to: Your Ex-Husband is Never Going to Find Someone Like You and My Bangs Are Totally Fucking Rad.
Alright, it was mostly about the giant inflatable penis.
Thanks for the pictures Charmayne!
It was pissing rain when Fahrin and I left our tap class last night and neither of us had brought an umbrella.
"Oh, no! I have such a cute red umbrella, but it's AT HOME!" exclaimed Fahrin, at the same time a cute guy appeared in the vestibule.
The guy looked over, smiled at us and said, "I have mine." Time was suspended briefly as I truly thought we were about to have a crazy romantic movie moment, where the tall, handsome stranger asks the beautiful girl (Fahrin) to share his umbrella. I swear to God, I even heard an orchestra.
He pushed open the door, flipped up his umbrella and took off. Our heads swiveled toward each other in silent disbelief.
"That guy totally wasted his op."
"Whatever, that's what hoods are for."
We adjusted our bangs and our hoods and set off into the shining, wet streets too.