bleaching room (metaphorically) / bleaching hair (literally)

 I have a few more days home before I pack up a van that will go to Toronto, and I will be on a flight. There is something weirdly fulfilling about slowly emptying my room.

Taking the lights and vines down,

removing the photos,

boxing trinkets, 

sorting through piles to stay, and piles to bring with me.

Every move I have ever made has been done in haste. There were the college moves, where I knew I was only so far from home and would be back frequently. Packing up the rooms after 9 months was always done in a stomach ached rushed because I would have to do it in 24 hours after my last exam. During COVID, I had 6 hours to pack everything from my dorm before the campus closed, then when home, I excitedly moved from my small room upstairs to the basement and was so excited to hustle my stuff into place.

But now I have time. I have to bring a lot of things, because the next time I'll be home will be Christmas, and when else will I have a van heading up to my apartment?

But I am slowly packing, enjoying the disassembly, picking each piece that is worth the space in my new home, and storing the rest carefully for when I return home in the undetermined amount of time. 

Right now, I am calling it therapeutic. When Thursday night hits, I am going to call it a cluster-fuck, but let me enjoy the calm for now.

And of course, because when chaos looms, I like to bring it closer myself, I decided to bleach my hair... kinda. Long story short, for 12 years I have been bleaching my pixie cut and dying it every colour and combo you could imagine. That's not an exaggeration, I have done every colour. 2 years ago, I decided to let my natural ginger grow out, which I loved.

But you take me, 2 am, and a box that is essentially a Sally's Beauty Supply with no supervision... of course I am going to do something reckless.

To be honest, it kinda works. I just did like a halo under my front bangs, so it kinda looks like a money piece- and I feel like both a bad ass and a cool emo. It works, I have no regrets.

Now I have to remember to pack that box of hair supplies. 

'dehoming' the hometown

 The big move to Toronto means the need to declutter a life I have meticulously built over 5 years. My home will always be home, and my family is always welcoming- but living life in 2 places is not sustainable. I have 2 of everything, and so I came home to declutter my life out.

Fun fact- I suck at decluttering

I honestly think I am whatever the opposite of a minimalist is. I think as a creative person, that is normal. I was also born in 2000, so I was given the gene of loving a little trinket. A do-dad. A little poster or postcard on my wall.

So I am here, working out what to sell, what to store for the undetermined time when I come back home to settle down, and what to drag halfway across the country to my small (so small, oh my god I can't state again how small) apartment in Toronto.

Today, I sold my car. I am so sentimental, and so that one hurt a lot. I got this car expecting to be driving my kid around in it one day- but then I realized that I have other things that I want to achieve, and the car being in the picture just wasn't necessary at this point. A lot of breakdowns, a lot of friendship breakups, and a lot of therapeutic driving around an ocean side- all sold to the highest bidder. 

There are things I am sacrificing by doing this move. I am sacrificing the time I get to spend with my family. The parties that friends will have. The memories that can be made on a whim. The car is a sacrifice. But I want to believe that these sacrifices that I make now will be so worth it in the future. I hope at least.

Very sappy first-world issues. I am so lucky that my problem is separating from the things I've attached to, rather than wishing I had them in the first place.

Either way, I will be here for 2 weeks, turning my parents' basement that I have taken over since I was a teenager, into one single spare room of all of my most precious memories. 

Oh, and I am driving my 5 Guinea Pigs up to Toronto with me at the end of the two weeks. Some things I can't sacrifice, and those little guys are one (five) of those things.

The passing of 60 days can do alot (if your spiteful)

I wanna say I can do anything I put my mind to. But I also know that I trip over my own feet.

What is a change for happiness, vs a change just to have an excuse that 'it's the one thing missing from doing your dream'?

I was disheartened. I didn't get a job I really thought I would. One that was based in Toronto. I've always said the best things that could happen- would happen- the second I give myself the chance in a new environment.

So I was spiteful and heart-set, and booked a one-way ticket. Zero job lined up, no apartment. Just a place to stay and bunk down for a month to see if it was even possible. 

4 suitcases, one hell of a month, and way too much paperwork later- I sit in the bland bachelor apartment.

No warm lighting illuminates yet. Just a couch from Amazon, a desk, and the overhead lights.

Warmth in spaces builds naturally. I've been in enough dorms to know that by month 9, you're wondering "how everything is filled with so many memories" as you take down the pizza box cover turned art installation. I know I will miss my perfectly curated space in the basement of my parents' home, help only one staircase away.

But change is not bad.

It's new. And it's scary. And it's empty-

But I am positive that in a year, I will look at the walls in this place and wonder how I could ever call it cold.