Next week I say au revoir to Canada, though not permanently of course. Our paths will cross again. I’ve already bought a bed. After struggling with the symbolism of what it would mean to own furniture again after feeling the heady freedom of saying “Everything I own is right here in my car!” for the past six months, I bought some. Well, one furniture. A bed. Surely that’s symbolic, too. A bed means comfort to me. Home. Warmth. Love. Not just any bed: I figured that as long as I am doing this I may as well do it up right. This is MY bed. So it’s the most comfortable…