Zapped, but only of strength for today. The Drive beckons.

Last thoughts from my soon-to-be-former Minneapolis home.

Only piddly things remain to be boxed, for the most part, and we'll get the floors cleaned once the movers have boosted all of the boxes and wrapped all the furniture to get out of here.  Unbelievable how much has ended up in the Dumpster, how much is/was worn out, unusable, or simply not needed anymore.  It's different from any other move I've made in that if it's not in a box, it's (probably) not coming along.  No driving from the current residence across town; it's across-the-country-time, baby.

No time or (especially) money for the State Fair this year.  There will be other places to marvel at all of the animals in the barns and eat fried foods with tons of yokels and people pushing strollers and everything.  Had to break impromptu plans with Will for a beer, which was a bummer, but at the time I had wanted to meet him at the Triple Rock, I had just loaded my laundry into the dryer at the laundromat, still to eat dinner and pack still more things.


But no more packing for tonight.

As I walked outside to bring some of the last trash out, the muggy air suddenly, and arrestingly, reminded me of being a boy needing to come inside for the night after playing with other neighborhood kids as the last dregs of summer were fading away, before the dullness of grade school began again.  As I looked over the hedge to the back parking lot of Market BBQ, I remembered myself running or biking back home after hearing my parents' call.  Times really were so much simpler then, and like with most anyone's life, I had no way of knowing what the future held.

But now, I do.

I walked to the front of this building and looked out up and down LaSalle Avenue, still people about, looked across at Emerson School and thought of all the jumping and shouting I heard so often.  I'll miss living in this apartment, but it's time to go, time to make the move I've been planning for so long, the one I knew I had to make as soon as I put to rest my days of touring as a member of a hardcore punk band, with all the memories that were created while my longing for travel was sated.  There is simply no opportunity for me here anymore - interest rates can't last like this forever and I can only wonder what will happen to my departed mortgage industry once the rates go back up again.  It's a testament to how bad it is everywhere else that...

And just as I realize that I no longer have to think those thoughts, the clock nearly strikes midnight.  Bedtime, then the touch-up, then the drive to my new life begins.

Insomnia... and the bar-close drunk with the chalkboard laugh.

2:15am and I can't sleep.  Went to war against the filthy stove and several hours later it was practically spit-shined, but something in my head went off during the course of that cleaning: we are really about to get the hell out of Dodge, we really are moving to a new country, I'm ready to go to war for my financial aid and don't care what kind of news I may get tomorrow or next week.  I'm functionally broke until the aid arrives and do not feel entitled in the least, but gimme my money, dammit, so that I can budget my year and know whether or not my credit rating will sink or swim.

The summer drunk kids are back, too, and for several days now at 2am it's been a constant ship of fools.  It was so quiet for so long here just outside of downtown, with the bridge repairs of the LaSalle bridge over Interstate 94 cutting down on a good amount of traffic.  But now the college kids have returned; I'll be glad to be a college student again myself and hope that things will be quieter seven floors up than they are three floors up.  Just because the Toronto Public Library and a senior retirement community are across the street is no guarantee of anything, though.  But if they must be drunk, at least let them shut up if they're young and naive.  I've known plenty of smart drunks in my time and I'd give anything for the presence of just one random one now and then.

Yet, nothing is really an irritant.  The glow of the horizon has returned to my mind, the pictures of the huge new city beckoning.  Even the simple chaos of what kind of checking account to open at which bank, which also spun my brain into confusion and unrest, pales at the overall adventure that we're about to undertake.


Along with all the packing that's been done will be the re-packing, which is a putz, but it means that we've had more time to do things here at a more relaxed pace and we get to see a couple more people whom we wouldn't have been able to see otherwise.  I'm very conscious of the people I'll miss and it's not a treat to miss them, but knowing just how strong my network of friends is despite the Venn diagrams of our lives intersecting seemingly ever more rarely is a great treasure that I'll never take for granted.  New roots, old roots - all are important, everyone has their own take on you, and you on them, forever enjoying the richness of each diverse life... provided, of course, that perspective doesn't drown in stress and cause a circling of the mental wagons.  But I don't think that'll happen; I only need to adapt to how Jen and I will need to make more time for each other as our lives accelerate at different speeds and more separately than they have in the last few years, where we've been blessed to spend countless hours together, with the highest of highs and the lowest of lows already in the books, and yet we just keep soldiering on, mutually supportive, seeking to develop our lives together and the independent interests that we cultivate and share.


Three days from now, at this very hour, we may be checking into the Motel 6 in Battle Creek, Michigan, our last American sleeping outpost before driving a few more hours to the border, where I can only hope that I have all of my paperwork organized efficiently and to the border officers' liking.  The pendulum swings of the last week have been wrenching, but we're still here, still determined, and still leaving.


Not being held back by the uncertainty may yet be the greatest victory of all, as it's what separates a vivid life from one that may ultimately be left wanting from roads and chances not taken, circumstances bowed to instead of risen above.  I've worked very hard for this chance, but it is yet only beginning, and I hope not to forget the victories of each moment as they happen.

And then

...my guardian angel was able to come through.  A stroke of good luck, one that propels us forward again, gets us out of the hellish pit of not knowing.  Our home feels like home again, not like the jail it had become, stacks upon stacks of everything.

I'm exhausted and grateful.  Who knows what financial aid battles I have yet to fight, but I am grateful for the chance that was taken for my benefit, which puts wind beneath my wings again.

(Yes, I know, that phrase was essentially trademarked many years ago.  But it's the truth, and thankfully, I can't think of a better way to express it.)

Now, to hope that tomorrow is relatively simple, with another trip to the moving company to sign revised documents, and another credit card slip, this one for Jen's mom (who is just as much of an angel) to sign, as she offered to front the funds to pay for the movers, which we'll be able to pay back to her once we're settled in Canada.

Now, this is definitely a question of privilege and can't truly be answered, but how many other students have fought tooth and nail to put forth the best applications they could to their most-hoped-for school, felt the joy of clearing that hurdle and being accepted, and methodically put all their eggs in that basket, only to have a financial aid department have the real final say in the matter?  

It's not even a matter of small print: it's like you go somewhere for a meal and it tastes good, but then they serve you something bizarre and distasteful that you didn't order, and lock you in and hover over you and force you to eat it before you're allowed to leave.

Toronto or bust, but currently uncomfortably close to bust

It's this simple: either I find a creditworthy co-signer (or a guardian angel appears), or it's all over.  Either our wagon train gets the juice it needs, or one week from tomorrow I'll officially be both unemployed and homeless with $450.00 to my name , pretty completely fucked.  It is hard to believe that after five-plus months of planning, I am in the position I am in. I feel like we're up in a plane at 33,000 feet where the fuel has run out, but the inertia will keep us in the air for hours, possibly days, and I have no idea what shape our landing will take.

On top of it all, Jen got a job offer today for a position here in town at Chuck and Don's - a job she really, really wanted.  Apparently it didn't work out with the other person and they wanted to hire her on the spot, but Jen had to decline because we're moving.

We hope.

Not being able to sleep or scream, I can only walk through the neighborhood to try to burn off this tension, then come right back to it once I decide to come back home to the packed boxes, the handful of boxes re-opened for cookware and plates, the feeling of complete and utter transition that has dominated this "home" for a month now.

Screaming will not help; must save strength.  Must get out and walk with the weather less humid and the outdoor heat tempered, become leaner and meaner, hungrier, more willing and determined to fight and save this opportunity.  I am not going to let some faceless assholes steal this dream from me; I am going to find new ways to fight the backsliding.  Somehow.

So.

I get an auto-reply phone message around noon on this Sunday from one of my credit providers to call them today.  I missed the call, called back, spent fifteen minutes on hold, and gave up.  I had a worst-case panic that my card had been canceled, but then thought that they were calling about the reservation I'd made at Motel 6 in Battle Creek, Michigan, where I've never been, as they've called about "abnormal" transactions in the past to ensure that no fraud had taken place.  I then went on about the business of packing more things and visiting family.

Then, I called back while Jen was getting a prescription refilled.


"Due to your high credit utilization and minimum payment history, we have reduced your line of credit."

By two-thirds.


Financial aid?  Sitting in a file on someone's desk in Toronto.

Financial flexibility that I was relying on - to eat, get a new suit to compliment the one decent one that I own, pay for ANYTHING?  Gone.  Credit score?  Takes a nice hit thanks to me not having worked since July 28th in the run-up to coordinating a move to, oh, just another country, where every single thing from mail forwarding to car insurance to health insurance to a cellphone plan is something that needs to be addressed.  By me.  And the credit takes a nice hit thanks to (probably) a harried temp worker hired by a massive financial conglomerate who's looking for signs of financial mismanagement before the new credit card laws take effect, when massive financial conglomerates won't have quite as much freedom to fuck their customers like they can now.  (I'm sure it was all done in the name of "fiscal prudence" and "shareholder value" and everything else tossed up onto CNBC, MSNBC, and the like.)


To think how much worse this could be if I had children and had already gone through the process of finding new schools for them in another country.  Or if I was selling a home and had nowhere else to go.  Or if I'd quit my job having been accepted to a school in March.  (Whoops, already went and did that.)


As it is, something will happen on Monday, and it had better fucking be good.  The movers are/were due to be here at 8am tomorrow, and they won't be loading a truck, that's for sure.


"Someday, we'll look back and laugh."  Maybe Ian was right.

(Soon-to-be) Ecstatic Songs of Farewell and Departure

In sum: had a condo ready to go, lost the option due to a neophyte obviously not accustomed to full disclosure (much less being a landlord), panicked for about five minutes, called up another option (more expensive, but a beautiful unit), sent same supporting documents to The Condo Store (yes), borrowed $600.00 to be able to wire enough money to settle in the day before my required Orientation and Career Planning Session, wired the funds, waited anxiously for three days, and finally confirmed that it was received, but humorously $10.00 short (as the receiving bank likely added a wire receipt fee that hadn't been disclosed with the wiring instructions), was informed that it shouldn't be a problem, that it can probably be added to a rent check or something.

So, we have a posh condo for a year, where we will truly stretch every dollar, as my school only approved 60% of what I'd requested, with a lowered remainder still to be decided on by Sallie Mae.  With any luck, my credit won't be completely trashed by the time the financial aid funds come through, but for now, I'm just relieved that we have a place to lay our heads at night (and with every amenity we could possibly want or need, save for daily maid service, but in all other respects just like a nice hotel).

Money aside (hell, even with money in the discussion), my stress level has done a serious tank job, so now I can plow through my To-Do List that has a couple dozen items on it.

I drove to Kowalski's to get a couple of late items tonight and the feeling of imminent departure was palpable.  All the places I couldn't make time and/or afford to go to, the roads I'll rarely ever drive down again, billboards advertising events that'll occur long after we've moved to another country, foods with expiration dates long after I'll have sweated out my first batch of final exams in over 15 years.  The sounds of people for whom this will remain home, the cars that will basically stay around here forever, all the nearby brownstones full of people who will never meet - and all of this to greet me in my new home, which has a Toronto Public Library branch right across the street, the Sherbourne subway stop just three blocks away, a seventh-floor balcony with a northerly overlook of part of the massive expanse of Toronto.

I won't see all the people I'd like to see before I leave, but I'll see most of them.  In mapping out the route on Google, I looked at the satellite photos from Sarnia to Toronto and was tearing up in joy as the places I haven't yet seen were replaced by those that I have, such as the Gardiner Expressway along the Lake Ontario waterfront that I've driven on a few times already.  Toss in a few boxes packed tonight, a great chat with Jason (who's in Salt Lake City tonight as Baroness opens the second of several shows with the Deftones) and a clear schedule of goals for tomorrow, and I'm rolling, ready to go, amazingly not worried about money (though that will change, but am enjoying this healthy state of mind and cultivating it).

Things keep on happening as they need to, and the adventure is just a stone's throw of the calendar away, the first fruits of the risk that I decided to take so many months ago.   

Holiday Inn Pearson Int'l Airport, room 558, facing Highway 427, live postcards of Air Canada takeoffs

(Photo from today's Torontoist, chronicling just one part of Toronto's 43rd annual Caribana parade, which an estimated one million people attended.)

Four frantic days wind down from my landing here last Thursday afternoon, and I finally feel like myself after sleeping in today, deciding against seeing any other properties after endless driving around and viewing about ten or so places after vetting and rejecting dozens more.  I think I've found our new home, and now just need to get my school to issue a financial aid award letter so that our hopefully-landlady-to-be can see where the rent will be coming from.

I needed today, needed to just move at my own pace after draining nearly a full tank of gas driving around this sprawling metropolis, and a day after my cumulative stress tank overwhelmed my perception apparatus, leading to a long and tough talk with Jen where things that were creating needless static were ironed out and worked through.  Only today did I let myself off of the justify-the-expense hook and actually explore the town, start establishing new bearings in what I hope will be our new neighborhood: watched four streetcars rumble down the street in half an hour - on a Sunday, no less - and took my first subway ride (which was somehow free, despite my attempts to pay for it).  I was reminded of the subway trains I've ridden in San Francisco, Washington DC, New York, and London, and the civic statement that is made by investing in such valuable public infrastructure.

The entire world is here, and I want to find a way to buy the Rosetta Stone series for French and Spanish and write them off as educational expenses after (a) watching the re-dubbed detox scene in "Trainspotting" at 2:30am on CBC last night and (b) watching a family get on the train at Eglinton West today and sit down next to me where a girl and boy took their frenzied game of patty-cake from the subway platform into the subway car, with the boy trying to get a man my age to play with exhortations of "iRapido! Rapido!"

I can also begin to see what Jen gave up to stay in Minneapolis with me, what it must have been like to leave London and not return, staying with me in a town where the brightest lights just aren't as bright.  I'm excited to begin my schooling (the need to pull the financial aid rabbit out of the school's hat notwithstanding) and re-launch myself, but I'm almost more excited for Jen to re-establish herself here, after how limited we've had to be for so long because of our finances, in a city where driving is almost a sport for the foolish, what with the seemingly endless and constant supply of buses, streetcars, two or three interconnected train systems, and a subway tying so many places together.  (My own hoped-for subway and bus ride to school would be just over an hour from leaving home to getting to York, with all kinds of reading and reflective time available instead of traffic-dodging.)

After so many months of waiting, there's just a little more waiting to go, and if all goes according to plan, our lives will be transplanted from Minneapolis to Toronto in just under three weeks, with the first nervous dips of the big toe into the water of a new town already in the process of happening.  There's so much, and it's just a matter of being patient with it all, seeing the people I can in the Twin Cities before we leave for this new place, full of wonder and opportunity.

It's costing tens of thousands of dollars, but the ticket is punched to a new kind of Ellis Island, and unlike anytime before in my life, I truly believe that anything is possible.