I'm back in Toronto! But my girlfriend is on the other side of the country! So I'm living alone! For at least a month and possibly more! Last night, I stayed up until 4:30 a.m. watching Northern Exposure ("It's not the thing you fling - it's the fling itself") and knitting!
As some of you may recall, I have terrible habits when I am left alone, be it by Katr or by roommates. But, while my instinct is to spend this entire month of solo time pants-less and Slurpee-sodden, I recognize that staying up until the crack of dawn knitting, pining for my girlfriend, scribbling play ideas, watching the special features on Firefly, pining for my girlfriend, then waking up at 11:00 a.m. in time for my real estate agent to take me to lunch is not a sustainable series of lifestyle choices. Or . . . is it?
We sold our condo back in September, but the new owners don't take possession until October 31st. Because we had the condo set up as if we were living in it during the showings, we still have furniture here and our real estate agent brought in a stager to help make the place show better. So when I got in here yesterday, it was like coming home . . . to Katr and Roro's House of Wicker and Rattan.
There are silver picture frames in the living room with pictures of people I don't know. There are a lot of candles and a glass jar of cotton balls in the bathroom. There's a framed poster of a gigantic wave crashing around a lighthouse right above our bed and you don't have to be Oprah to make the connection. The enveloping wetness of the sea. The sturdy uprightness of the lighthouse. The bed. "There will be some good boning here," is the message. Clearly, they bought it.
I must say, this stager did a very cunning job. But my FAVOURITE thing the stager did was reported to me last night by Padu. He came over here to pick up a package a few weeks ago and told me that when he was here, there was a copy of Fall on Your Knees on the bedside table in the master bedroom. Because, buyers, the people who live here are appreciators of fine Canadian lesbonic fiction. What's even better is that when I got here, the book was gone. Which means it wasn't my copy of Fall on Your Knees - she BROUGHT HER OWN STAGER-COPY IN HERSELF.
I'm a little concerned that I won't be able to live up to the image of togetherness and rattan appreciation that our almost-former condo is projecting. I felt kinda bad messing up the perfect balance of the office by dragging my tiny dresser into the bedroom so that I had somewhere to stash my ginch. The bed in the bedroom was propped up on wicker baskets to make it look like there was a bedframe - Padu and I removed the baskets and now the bed is on the floor and it's VERY "hippie flophouse".
There are pots and baskets hanging enticingly from our wall mount in the kitchen and I feel I should be cooking a gourmet meal; and then I remember that it will have to be a simple meal because, while I DO have every spice known to man and enough tea to entertain the entire lesbian population of the Western Hemisphere, we have no cutlery. Except for the plastic stuff I stole from Wendy's.
Fortunately, whenever I feel downhearted, there's the new "Perseverance" poster in the office reminding me that "Any dream worth having is a dream worth fighting for." And today - today I dream of eating with real spoons. I think I can make it happen, people. Wait, wait - I KNOW I can!
