Blame Canada,  My Brain On Crack


Although I don’t particularly like them, not this brand anyway, I am eating organic corn tortillas. Microwaved, to take off that raw edge and render them nearly impossible to chew. Also they taste funny, possibly because the package has been in the fridge for weeks (partially opened, I found out) and there’s some white stuff on them that I told myself was “corn dust” and wasn’t the beginnings of mold and therefore isn’t going to make me sick, and I am bound and determined to finish every last tortilla in this package even though there isn’t anything like CHEESE to go with them because cheese is something I haven’t seen or frankly thought much about since last May, before I open the new fresh package moldering away in the fridge under this one.

Pardon me, I have been packing. Or rather, un-unpacking, since I am doing the reverse of what I did in August when room was made for my stuff in the closet and I hung it all on hangers and that wasn’t very long ago. And apparently all I own are: clothes, legal papers, pots and pans, and cycling gear. Also an iPhone which is useless beyond the border.

Also I own two bottles of wine, one of which is worth about $150 on the open market (email me to bid) and the other is still in its fancy box, intact after flying over the Atlantic, driving 2000 miles and back again, and then driving another 4000 miles to its present place of unrest. That bottle of wine is well-traveled, and it better be good.

Day after tomorrow someone comes to rip up the carpet in this place, leaving us the weekend to admire whatever horrors lay underneath before someone else comes Monday to take 30 boxes of [very heavy and hardly eco-conscious] laminate flooring and merrily click them into place while we amuse ourselves moving furniture from room to room.

And Tuesday I go find myself a new place to put all my clothes and legal papers and cycling gear. And then I have to acquire all the beds tables dishes lamps bookshelves that go into making a house habitable. I am tryng to think of the One Important Thing that I cannot forget, that absolutely makes a house a home. It might be pillows. And I have mine with me, so I’m all right.

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