Lessee.
The flight was eerily smooth. The lady at the counter lied for me and reduced the number of kilos over the limit that I was, and the surcharge ended up costing me up to my last euro penny plus Seb's parking fee.
Seb cried. I poked him until he smiled, then wandered into the waiting area and read a book about dragons until it was time to get onto an american plane, compared the large difference in service with Yet Another Emigrating Doctor In His Forties Looking For a Young Wife... And time crawled by under his overintense gaze until it was time to bat my eyes at the customs lady and shiver through the long car ride home sitting beside my father.
This morning was sweeter, Mystie joining us for a jaunt to the License Bureau, daddy dearest is a lot quieter in public.
I now have a car registration, driver's license, EI paperwork, CAA membership, Insurance, have made my change of address (to Montreal for the time being) for my medicare, and on and forth...
I know it's ridiculous, after the distances I've run and the jagged paper cuts that I've earned over the years, but I still despise paperwork more than anything. I hate it. I can't stand it. A day of pushing papers around just trying to permit the already very real existence of my fucking car and it is all too easy to tell myself that I don't want to be here I don't want to be here
but I don't think that's true. I don't know what's true. I can't think. Not yet. Breathing has gotten easier since I called cfoo this afternoon and I heard the weight in his voice when he said "I am very, very glad that you're back", but I still can't think. Not about the future, not next week, not even the repacking that needs to get done tomorrow.
I have a list of things to get done, and I am doing them methodically, tiring myself to the bone so that my brain has time to rest.
For now I am comfortable numb, giggling when it is time to giggling, sitting listlessly and humming Cristal and I's song when it isn't.
Tonight is bar night with the boys and whoever else shows up.
Tomorrow is another list of errands.
Thursday is another list.
Friday, if all goes well and the hundred little obstacles so far don't grow any taller, is a six hundred kilometer drive culminating in a much anticipated hug.
I will most likely not be wearing underwear, if my period is over by then.