Flashback

Well, I've finally started packing in earnest, It helps that some major pieces of furniture are gone, like all five of my bookcases. So now the books are going into boxes. Next, unused clothing and desk supplies will go into boxes. Next ... I dunno. Packing is so overwhelming. You get halfway through and you think, "Oh, that's not so bad. I'm sure I'll be able to fit everything in the car after all." Then you actually finish and survey the 17,379 boxes that take up four rooms, holding things that used to only take up two and a half rooms, and you find modern-day proof for the miracle of the loaves and fishes.

My problem is that, because I'm a worrier, I always start things too early. I've discovered that getting an early start on things, in fact, does not make me any more efficient about getting it done, or make me worry about it less, or help me to just get it out of the way, etc. It just make me feel like I'm getting something done. So then when I'm worried about it, I can console myself with, "Well, at least you've made a dent in it." I'm addicted to feeling productive.

Bah.

I was out and about very early this morning, thanks to an unplanned trip to the blood lab followed by a trip to the library. This involved me walking from my street, through the northern edge of McGill campus, down University to Sherbrooke, then along Sherbrooke into Westmount. The air was wonderful. It was only about 18 degrees Celsius, tshirt and jeans weather, and the air was cool and clean, and the sunlight sharp, my favorite kind of sunlight. It was, by all accounts, a perfect day for early fall.

For whatever reason, it reminded me so much of when I first moved here, that first couple of months when everything about Montreal and McGill was new and exciting. This feeling was magnified by the fact that I was walking through all the places that I used to frequent in first year. I hung out at the music building a lot, I explored the upper reaches of Penfield and Pine, I wandered along the edge of the Ghetto, thinking it very exotic, I sang at a church in Westmount near Greene and my best friend lived in a condo bordering the park. I was in a half-daze all day, slipping into daydreaming and remembrances without wanting to or realizing it. I remembered details about rez and people and things I used to do, stuff that I hadn't thought about in six years. I probably missed about three-quarters of my day because I was living in the past.

I'm still kind of daydreaming. It's still a beautiful fall day.

Little about the city has changed in these last six years. But the person I was then almost doesn't exist anymore. In many ways that's a good thing, but it sure made for one heck of a discombobulated trip down memory lane.

Where will I be six years from now? Three years? Next year?