ottawa

After work today, I went to meet Jennifer at the Usual Spot. I was pretty excited, because I hadn't seen Jennifer in ages* and because I also hadn't eaten the very good food there in ages and ages* and because I was going early, which meant I would be home early, which meant I could get a lot of writing done.***

Now, the Usual Spot used to be my very usual spot, like usual 3 or 4 times a week usual. And it's a hang out for a few overlapping extended social circles.

When I walked in and saw Ian, I wasn't surprised. Ian's someone I know from my former life. Though he's a bureaucrat now, I know him because he's a musician, used to be full time teaching and in jazz bands; my ex, Mike, loved him. And no wonder. I can't vouch for Ian's technical prowess on the sax, but he's a lovely and kind man. I'm always pleased to see him.

Tonight he was with a couple of co-workers who were too wrapped up in the Specials Board for introductions. He and I passed the time amicably, talking about his new contract, my writing, whatever else.

The door kept opening, a draft across my neck. I kept turning, looking for Jennifer. It was other people, poking their heads in, counting those of us in line, twisting their mouths in resignation and leaving again. Several times.

And then two large men opened the door and stayed.

The face of the one on the left clicked me back a few years. Shit, I thought, he's That Guy. Drummer. Practices. In my basement. Empiricals? Yes. Ro? Ru?

Ian did the polite thing. "You all know each other?"

That Guy and I looked hard at each other. Click. "Ross, yes," I shook his hand. "It's Megan."

"I remember." He smiled.

Ian turned to me. "So you know Michael."

I turned to Michael, expecting the same click. But I did not, in fact, know Michael. He and I both raised our eyebrows and shook our heads slightly.

Their small talk continued around me.

"You're still with [redacted], Ian?"
"Yep, not in the [redacted] department any more, though. Getting to know the poets now."
"Nice, nice," Ross said. I'm not sure if he meant it or not.
"Hey," Michael piped in. "Megan just found out she'll be working with [forgotten]!"

Click, click.

"Really? Wow, that's--"

I interrupted.

"Umm, Megan? As in Megan Jerome? As in Mike and Megan?"

Michael looked perplexed, but Ian got what I meant, I could see his laugh in my peripheral vision.

When I was dating a Mike, we always got a kick out of, and were sometimes confused for, this other indie-rock Mike and Megan. When Mike and I broke up, I occasionally wondered how the other Mike and Megan were faring.

I started to explain this when Ross threw up his hands.

"Alright! We've all slept together. That's it! Let's just admit it. Face it, we're in a small city and we've all been to bed together."

It's the most succinct description of Ottawa I've heard in a while.

Ross turned to Michael. "Except for us and this George guy. Let's go find him."

They wandered off to find their dining companion. Ian and his crowd were seated. I turned to pick up the paper, smiled back at the man on the banquette.

*Translation: Approximately 10 days.
**Translation: Approximately 1 month.
***Translation: Fuck around on the Internet and avoid writing by accomplishing some of the items on the house list that have been listed for months. Possibly go to bed at 9:45.

I had an amazing day today. I was crabby for part of it, because I am waaay overtired, even though I'm getting more hours of sleep than I normally do. And trying to make food in a kitchen that is torn apart is no fun, and I'm really too tired to feel like cooking, and I'm really too tired to feel much like eating.

Except for the veg and havarti sandwich on wheat bread. Hrm. Perhaps the post-lunch crabbiness was not tiredness, but indigestion.

The weather this summer has just been bananas for Ottawa. It was cool and sunny, though humid, for most of today. Then around 6 pm, when I was heading out to pick Eric up to take him out to the VV, the clouds gathered ominously. By the time we hit the highway, it was pouring. Couldn't see 10 feet in front of the car pouring. By the time we got parked at the drop off centre, it was sunny and raining. By the time we came out from shopping, it was cool, bright and beautiful.

I was glad I'd made a last minute decision to thrift instead of go to yoga, since that gave me time to head out along the river in my favourite kind of weather.

That run almost always makes me feel grateful. Tonight, when I turned back home, and the sun was shining red off the stone of the church high up on the escarpment, and the browns of the townhouses were warm, and everything smelled green and round, and I thought, "this is my home, I get to see this for the rest of my life" I was nearly in tears.

Beyond the tiredness and the disaster and the seeming endless cavalcade of details, I know I am lucky, so lucky, to be alive and here, and in the life I live.

I'm pretty sure the people at Staples think I'm an asshole. I've called them so many times to "just check in" on the status of my computer that I was a little afraid they'd done the techie version of spitting in my soup.

But no, when I called this morning to find out if it had actually gone out yesterday, because maybe I wanted it back so that I didn't have to rely on the so-last-decade telephone to communicate with my far-flung lover, the nice man who answered the phone, who thankfully wasn't the Emily who'd been aurally frustrated with me the day before, went looking for it and all he found was a note:

Megan Butcher
SEND OUT ASAP

It's quite possible that Emily meant me, but one can hardly blame her for that.

It could take 1 week, it could take 1 month. Until my comuter gets to where it's going, nobody knows how long for sure.

Last night, on the telephone, CT groaned when I told him it was a Sony. Apparently, Sony works on the slow side. So it seems likely that by the time I get my beloved lato back, I will have counted down and gone past the things that I am counting.

+ONE+

The move is going well, I would say. Yes, my apartment is a fucking disaster, and yes, I find it unsettling, and yes, I'm far more irritable about things in general than I normally am. But my packing is well on the way to being finished. It will take 9 days for the tin backsplash to make it to my new address, so I've got ORDER TIN written on next Wednesday and circled. I've got 18 paint chips. I've got 2 moving committees organized. We've signed the mortgage, in duplicate. The insurance is nearly in place after getting 3 quotes.

The ducks, they are waddling into a neat row.

+TWO+

10 days after I move, 3 weeks tomorrow, CT will be touching down in Ottawa at 8 pm. Besides the hotza, I'm really excited to be hosting someone who's not from here.

Since he booked the tickets, I've had new eyes for my city. The big things I want to show him because they're beautiful and everyone knows it - looking up the canal from the Corktown Bridge. The things I love because not many people think to look - the view of the Hintonburg church spire from Empress during a red sunset.

I'm envisioning meandering walks through the streets I love, maybe a couple of shows. Dinner at the Manx, drinks at the Aloha, brunch at my favourite neighbourhood spot.

And the hot hotza.

Suddenly 9 days seems very short.