this is where the crazy lives

as mentioned earlier, the psycho at the end of my hall is officially GONE. outta here. history.

G-O-N-E!

per my super, who came to my door this afternoon (about three minutes after i returned from a weekend in the 'burbs) to tell me the news herself… AND to ask (before she knew i'd been away) whether i'd heard all the noise at 4am.

apparently, the psycho left all her packing until the veryveryverylast minute and, with the help of her father -- who sounds like just as much of an entitled asshat as his daughter -- was dismantling everything she owned, VERY LOUDLY, in the wee hours today. the super, who lives five floors away, said it woke her from her sleep, and she thought for sure i would have called this morning to relay the disturbance.

i told her no, that i'd purposely planned to be over at my parents' house or chez YB this weekend because i wanted to avoid whatever mayhem the psycho would unleash as she moved out. i wasn't sure she was moving out this weekend, but i really really really hoped she would. word was that she was moving to montreal, so i figured she'd do it sometime *before* december 1st when, presumably, she'd be moving into her new place.

ANYWAY…

the super and i chatted, and i could see the relief all over her face. save for the 4am noise, the psycho didn't go out with any kind of bang (thankfully). the super said the psycho and her father -- who backed the moving truck up onto the lawn of the building, despite the super's request that he not, you know, wreck the grass with a truck -- packed up her junk and left before noon. the psycho dropped the keys into the super's mailbox.

"no goodbye," said the super, with a slight grin.

when the super said she was headed into the psycho's apartment, i asked if i could come to see it. ever since i moved into the building and first encountered the nightmare that was this unbalanced young woman, i'd wondered what lay behind her door. the super said i could come check it out, but warned that it was really dirty.

having lived at hell house, i felt pretty prepared for anything that might be left in the psycho's place.

and, you know, it wasn't as horrible as i'd imagined -- i'd had visions of dog feces everywhere, rotting food in the fridge and insane scrawlings across the walls, that sort of stuff -- but it was certainly a very fitting physical representation of the chaos in this girl's head.

each room and tiny stretch of hallway was painted in a different loud, hideous colour. there was nothing remotely tranquil or relaxing about any of the shades she chose. the hall was dark purple, with swirls and designs she obviously painted on herself in a bid to be "artsy." instead, the embellishments were ugly and childlike. i suspect it's going to take lots of primer and several coats of neutral beige to cover that. the bedroom had blood-red walls, with a weird decorative (??) board nailed across one side, with more of the swirly, amateurish painting on it. the opposite wall was covered in nails and screws, as though she'd had hundreds of tiny pictures nailed up.

she'd painted all the kitchen cupboards mint green… which might not have looked so bad had it not been so filthy and broken. cupboard doors were off their hinges or loose, the shelves behind them littered with junk (coffee mugs, dishes, empty boxes, garbage) she'd left behind. the stove was a disaster, looking like things had exploded on it -- and never been cleaned. the tiny fridge was gross on the outside AND on the inside though, surprisingly, she'd actually not left any food in it. plenty of food residue and dirt and the like, but no decaying meat or spoiled milk.

the adjacent living room was painted yellow, but the whole place was covered in a layer of grime. the psycho was a smoker -- who quit this spring and then started up again this fall -- so everything had a charming nicotine film.

and the bathroom? wow. i was way too afraid to lift the toilet seat to see what she might have left behind, but the sink was disgusting and will need to be replaced… partly due to the dirt and partly because the psycho had decided to use the rim of the sink to test out nail-polish colours. there was one side that had a few dozen multicoloured dabs of nail polish that, the super suspects, won't come off. the bathtub was vile, the closet was a mess, the floor even messier.

there was junk and garbage left everywhere -- empty bottles, random milk crates, debris and dirt and dust and who knows what else. the entire space reflected its tenant perfectly.

and i could feel all the negative energy that had accumulated in there during her tenure. it was like a big, dark cloud hanging in the air, dissipating slowly. i actually suggested to the super that she smudge the place and she said, "yeah, i think i'll do that once the painters finish and before the new girl moves in."

the super said her chest was feeling tight while we were in there, so we left. thankfully, we stood out in the hallway for a while afterward, because i didn't want any of that negative energy to come back to my apartment with me.

in hindsight, a part of me wished i'd had the foresight to take my camera in with me, just to document what i saw. but i'm also kind of glad i didn't.

in many ways, it's much better to close that apartment door -- literally and figuratively -- and to be rid of what it contained without any lingering reminders.

THE PSYCHO IS GONE!!!!!!!!!!!

she moved out this morning, and left her keys for the super. she's officially GONE!!!!

oh, happy, happy, HAPPY day!

more on this later tonight.

oh, hello...

... it's been a while, hasn't it?

thought so.

macgyvering the bedroom

yesterday, i took soundproofing measures into my own hands.

the young guy who lives on the other side of my bedroom wall is, apparently, somewhat clueless about noise and how sound travels and the fact that he doesn't actually live in a soundproof isolation chamber where he can do whatever he likes and no one will ever hear him.

to be fair, as far as noisy (or psychotic) neighbours go, he's not that bad. he doesn't blast his music at all hours, he doesn't have screaming arguments or temper tantrums when everyone else is trying to sleep and, as of yet, he's never been escorted out by police or had his apartment inspected for filth.

he does, however, have a propensity for being up very late -- or very early, depending on your perspective -- and being heavy of foot and hand when he is. doors slam, windows are loudly dragged shut, random items sound like they're being tossed to the floor. and, of course, there were his wee-hours dalliances with his girlfriend a little over a week ago.

much as i wished he'd be a little more considerate, the middle-of-the-night clunks, bangs, crashes and booms continued. never for more than four or five minutes, total, but always loudly enough that i would be startled awake, heart pounding, wondering what the eff that sound was.

last week, as i wrote in an earlier blog post, i began devising options for myself. what could i do, i thought, to manage my end of the situation in the best, most effective way possible?

first step: quit bemoaning said situation. much to my surprise, i didn't wind up spending weeks agonizing over lost sleep and asshat neighbours and ineffective building management. i didn't sit on big red, seething or depressed.

i actually went to work on solutions.

i started researching my soundproofing options -- what could i, as a renter who doesn't own her space and therefore can't really make any permanent changes to it, do to make my bedroom quieter? turns out, plenty. though i wasn't really ready, willing or able to go out and buy a whole lot of sheetrock so i could install a secondary "buffer" wall, i certainly could rearrange furniture.

that led to some brainstorming about room configuration and things like how i might build a radiator cover to give myself a new nightstand. i started browsing sites like ikea.ca to see about storage solutions that might also provide some sound-muffling. i debated whether i should repaint.

when i stepped off the renovation hamster wheel, i continued looking for soundproofing techniques i might try. the key, i learned, is to prevent sound from traveling into the room via the amplifier that is that cement wall. to do that, i'd need to create some buffer-like air space between the wall and the rest of the room. i could hang photos, put up shelves, suspend a curtain parallel to the wall or, believe or not, wedge a 10-pound bag of sand up against the wall to deaden some of the vibrations it gives off.

so many ideas!

and, the more i researched, the more empowered i felt.

eventually, i decided to shift my bed away from the wall, swap out the head and foot (i.e., i'd sleep with my head at the foot of the bed, and my feet where my head normally lies) and then, tacky as it may look, i'd tape one of my polar-fleece blankets right across the wall.

i fashioned a headboard (i don't have a real one) out of a clothes-drying rack i turned on its side and secured in place by wedging it between the bed and two heavy boxes to prevent it from moving during the night. i then took my workout mat, unrolled it and leaned it up against the wall below the hanging blanket.

honestly, my bedroom is a few cushions short of a pillow fort at this point.

BUT...

when it was all put together in its designed-by-a-toddler fashion, i was pretty damn proud of myself. i tested out the acoustics and noted a distinct difference -- the sound absorption had definitely improved, and that big, empty cement wall was now providing subtle muffling instead of amplification.

more importantly, though, i was pleased that i'd traded my usual approach to a challenging situation (worry and stress and angst) and opted to tackle it head on instead. being proactive felt great! i managed to use my obsessive googling for good instead of reinforcing bad, and to seek out possible answers to my problems rather than just focusing on the problems themselves.

fingers crossed it all works. or, at least, provides a temporary fix until such time as YB drops in to help me move my bed and dresser.

all tiled up!

making (quiet) lemonade out of a (noisy) lemon

so, after much deliberation and measuring to ensure it would work, i've decided to reconfigure my bedroom. having my head right next to the shared wall with my neighbour has never really been ideal, but i realized that perhaps the universe was actually presenting me with an opportunity. namely, to switch things up.

as such, i began examining how i could move my bed somewhere else in the room. one wall is all windows, and that wall is opposite a double-door closet. obviously, neither would work. but the wall opposite the shared wall is clear, save for a small (supplementary and dead) radiator. the available space in which to slide the bed is smaller and won't allow for a nightstand, but the bed itself would fit with a few inches to spare on either side.

once i'd figured that out, the wheels in my brain began spinning, and i started plotting the rearrangement of furniture and rewiring of the TV hook-up. picture frames would have to move, the nightstand would need to find a new home somewhere other than within arm's reach of the bed. there is more mapping to come.

the only downside to this is that the geometric mural i painted above my bed last year will now be partially obscured by my dresser, and will look off-centre on that wall. i may wind up painting over it and recreating it. or i may just paint over it and hang pictures on that wall instead. i'm not sure yet.

in the meantime, i present these mural-as-it-happened photos i took through the process, so you can see what it looks like before it (possibly) vanishes:

i was very proud of myself when i finished this mural. it was a two-day process (notice how the light/colour changes from photo to photo!), and there was a LOT of measuring and remeasuring and levelling and precision and math.

and pulling that tape off to reveal the crisp, even squares was like unveiling a (however simple) masterpiece. though i hadn't planned it all, i realized after the fact that there were 35 white squares -- and i was 35 when i first moved into this apartment.

anyhoo, there you have it.

un petit bisou pour vos coeurs

someone posted a link to this vignette the other day, and i was reminded how sweet and moving it is.
i saw Paris, je t'aime years ago at TIFF, and this was the short i loved most.

quick shots

* after much waffling and research and soliciting of opinions, i opted to get my very first flu shot this year, and got one this morning at dr. textbook's office. it was administered by her amazing nurse, who i wish were actually my doctor, and was completely painless. i told the nurse i didn't believe she'd actually given me any kind of needle at all. i also got that heart test you get when you turn 40 (can't remember its name), and a requisition form for my first (baseline) mammogram. fun times! then i sat and waited for 40 minutes to have my blood drawn by a very chatty new guy at the lab.

* just after midnight last night (this morning?), i was awakened by what sounded like objects being thrown against the other side of my bedroom wall. i woke up, heart pounding, and pulled out my earplugs to try to figure out what the hell was happening. a few more loud thuds and bangs and then... erm... the distinct sounds of the young guy next door "entertaining" a lady friend. i heard her, not him. i cleared my throat loudly and they were quiet after that, but i was so startled when i woke that i couldn't fall back asleep for at least THREE MORE HOURS (i remember seeing the clock had hit 2:30am the last time i checked). i was not pleased. why can't he just live quietly? it wasn't the sex that woke me, it was whatever they were throwing into the radiator (each other?) that did.

* the psycho at the end of my hall has exactly two weeks and two days left to move out. i am counting down the hours and hoping for a quiet, peaceful, speedy departure.

* further to the above two points, and because i'm ever-so-slowly trying to work on that "what do you want your life to look like?" question my therapist posed a few weeks ago, i was browsing condos for sale earlier. i actually found a few that would be affordable and not in a slum! i did, however, make the mistake of looking up one of the addresses on the bedbug registry. that sent me down the rabbit hole, frantically searching address after address, until i'd managed to jack my anxiety up a good 50 notches.

* mom and YB brought back a bag of pearson's mint patties for me from the states. they're half the price of york peppermint patties, and they're made in the USA, and you get more in a bag. and they're delicious!

* and, yes, i realize i have not finished my iceland tales. i still have at least one more to go, i think.

who left the baby in the recliner?

it never ceases to amaze me how ungrateful and inconsiderate my father can be.

the way he's reacted to having tiles installed in my parents' home, and him moving in with YB, is just the latest, most frustrating example.

dad didn't want tiles installed. he didn't think there was anything wrong with the stained carpet in the hallway or the discoloured vinyl tiles in the kitchen or the beyond-ugly plastic baseboards (stained and dirty thanks to him) in the main-floor washroom. it was all totally fine as far as he was concerned, and he huffed and puffed and harumphed and complained anytime the subject of tiling came up.

in fact, he behaves that way anytime anything needs fixing in the house. and i do mean needs fixing. it's not like mom's frivolously undertaking one home-reno project after another just for kicks.

a few years ago, the bricks on one wall of the outside of their house were literally crumbling apart, and dad bitched and moaned and put up a stink when it was time to get them replaced. the same thing happened when they had all the windows in the house replaced -- the windows were old, rusting, letting in wind and moisture, and needed to be updated, but dad kept arguing that there was nothing wrong with them. see also: the cracked and warped front-porch tiles that needed replacing; the old, inefficient toilets that needed upgrading; the big patch of blistered plaster in the dining room that needs to be patched and repainted because of a (now-fixed) leaky pipe (again with much pre-plumber fuss).

yet, get this, when he decided to have the entire roof replaced this past year -- despite the roofer telling him it wasn't necessary and, subsequently, finding no damage to the roof structure once the shingles were all stripped off -- he balked at being challenged about it. the job cost my parents several thousand dollars and was pointless, but he didn't want to admit that he'd been wrong.

to recap: necessary repairs initiated by mom = not okay. costly, unnecessary repairs initiated by dad and actually discouraged by the person doing the repairing = totally A-OK!

so, it was no surprise that dad didn't get out his pom-poms and cheer for a major flooring overhaul. but, at this point, even begrudging compliance would have been preferred to what mom got instead: a grown man in his 70s, stomping around like a child having a temper tantrum, and refusing to do anything to help the process.

he didn't want to go look at tiles. he didn't want to help choose them ("you're just gonna buy what you want, anyway," he grumbled to mom). and, worst of all, over the past couple of days, he has done absolutely nothing to help prep the house for this job.

he sat in his recliner, griped about how this was all such a huge inconvenience and trial for him, and did nothing. his sole contribution to the process was to make it as unpleasant and difficult as possible for all involved.

i just now got off the phone with mom, who said she was so exhausted she didn't even want to watch TV. she'd been taping up doorways and moving stuff out of the kitchen, and said she was probably going to be in bed by 8:30, she guessed.

i'd offered to go over to the house this afternoon to help her move things, but YB had said she would be there and would help, and mom kept telling me not to come, that everything was fine. i was there this morning and cleaned all the bathrooms while my parents were at church (so mom wouldn't have to do it tonight), and was willing to go back to help after the photo shoot, but mom wouldn't have it. "it's FINE," she said.

yet, clearly, it was not fine. while dad sat in his recliner for the afternoon, mom and trix worked. once mom dropped dad and kyle off at trixie's in the early evening, she went back to the house and kept working for two more hours. until she was so tired she had to stop. so tired she didn't even want to watch television.

while dad, i'm sure, spent the evening sitting on trixie's couch and muttering about this terrible ordeal through which he's being forced to live.

i cannot believe how he behaves. nor can i believe trixie hasn't yet read him the riot act -- something he more than deserves, but something no one but YB could do (because he doesn't listen at all to mom or to me). i suspect, though, that even her patience will wear thin within a day or two of having him in her space non-stop.

eventually, i told my mom that we had to stop discussing this subject. it always sends my blood pressure through the roof and i was getting upset (again) at how poorly he continuously treats the woman who keeps the house, washes all his things, feeds him, does all the shopping, runs his errands, shuttles him to doctors' appointments, puts up with his miserable personality and gets zero cooperation -- let alone thanks -- for any of her efforts.

my heart breaks for her that she's married to someone who can be such a colossal asshat.

a peck of pix

in case you haven't stopped by in a while...

before on the floor

the tiles will go from the front door, along the hall,
throughout the kitchen and into the main-floor powder room.

most of the furniture and wall accessories have been moved out.
YB will be helping mom get the rest of it cleared out this afternoon.

i like these blue vinyl tiles, but this is dad's washroom.
as such, despite regular scrubbing, those tiles are frequently dirty.

in many ways, i'll miss the carpeted hallways.
but i look forward to seeing how everything will look,
and the living room (seen above), dining room
and family room will all still have carpet.

weekend plans

* this morning, YB and i are going to a screening of the new muppet movie! i ♥ the muppets, and i can't wait for this film. YB very very rarely comes with me as a plus-one, and i'm hoping this morning's audience isn't filled with loud children and obnoxious parents.

* this afternoon, i will head to a bed, bath & beyond to return the toxic shower curtain i purchased from them last weekend. when i opened the package and hung it on monday, the fumes were overwhelming. i opened all my windows but couldn't stand in the bathroom without feeling queasy. some quick googling informed me that those fumes were actually toxic off-gases with all kinds of nasty side effects, so i promptly took the curtain down, folded it back up, put it in a plastic bag with the receipt and tied it shut. then i put that bag in another bag, the fumes were that potent.

* i will also go grocery shopping later today. my return to the office was somewhat sudden, so (i realized as the week went on) i wasn't fully prepared, supply-wise, for daily lunches and snacks and the like.

* tonight, i'll help mom clean out the kitchen, bathroom and main hallway of my parents' house. on monday, they're having ceramic tiles installed in all those places (replacing vinyl tile and carpet), so everything needs to be moved. lord knows, dad isn't going to help -- he's been complaining and griping about these tiles since mom put her foot down and said they were going in. the wall-to-wall carpet on the main floor has taken a beating thanks to dad's repeated drips and spills, and tiles are much easier to wipe clean. (if it were up to dad, their house would completely fall apart around them and he'd still say, "what? it's fine.") installation will be a four- or five-day process.

* further to the above point, tomorrow night... dad and mr. poo are moving in with trix. (cue: thunderclap.) she offered, and i think she loves the idea of kyle living with  her, but having dad in her space all day, every day, for almost a week? wow. there's no WAY i would ever extend that offer and, in fact, i'd thought mom and dad would be a hotel and kyle would stay with me. apparently, i was mistaken. mom will stay at the house (because she's patient and quiet, and she knows how to stay out of the workers' way and how to maneuver around construction) and dad will be at trixie's.

* tomorrow afternoon, though, YB and i are having our photos taken! our real-estate agent -- who's AMAZING and wonderful and generous -- regularly hosts "thank you" events for her clients. she doesn't advertise, works only from referrals, and says she'd rather spend her money on thanking her clients than paying to attract new ones. so, she's invited us to complimentary cooking classes, city tours, yoga classes and the like and, tomorrow, she's hired a photographer to take portraits -- for free! there will be various backdrops available, and holiday-themed accessories for anyone who wants to take their family's christmas-card photo. YB and i will each have solo shots taken and then some pair pictures to give to our parents. it should be fun!

should i be shot?

i've never had a flu shot.

and i don't know that i want to get one. but, this year, i fear maybe i should.

i don't remember anyone ever getting a flu shot when i was growing up or while i was working full-time years ago. i don't remember the flu, or flu-related deaths, ever making the news or causing the kind of panic they do now. but, in the past five years especially, they've become an annual must-do for millions of people once autumn hits. flu-shot clinics sprout up everywhere. "get your flu shot" ads appear in newspapers and commercials touting their importance start running on TV. nevermind that the movie Contagion scared the bejesus out of lots of people. me included.

yet, i've never had one because i never really felt like i needed one. i've worked from home since 2002, so i've always been (mostly) out of the biggest danger zone in terms of mass transmission of cooties: the office.

the last time (before this year) i worked in an office for an extended stint, i *did* get the flu. it was 2003, i think (can't remember exactly), and i'd gone back to my old magazine to help out with coverage over the winter holidays. about halfway through my assignment, i very suddenly got very sick. i was completely knocked on my ass for a good, solid week. coincidentally or not, my thyroid also went out of whack soon thereafter.

since then, though, i've managed to avoid the flu. *knockonwoodknockonwoodknockonwood*

i'm hyper-vigilant about washing my hands and avoiding germs. i actually think the flu shot makes some people lazy in terms of their own germ-avoidance: there's a weird "well, i've had the shot, so i won't get sick and i can be careless!" thing that sometimes happens.

i've also never had a flu shot because i'm not entirely convinced all these vaccines are 100% safe. it's a new cocktail each year, containing different flu strains based on what the WHO believes will be the most "popular" viruses that season. it's not a tried-and-true, long-time formulation that's been used for decades (like the shot you'd get for, say, tetanus or measles). i get this nagging feeling that, 10 years down the line, someone's going to discover some kind of heinous side effect to all these various flu shots that are rolled out every fall. remember the H1N1 vaccine, and how quickly it was rushed onto the market? could it really have been thoroughly tested? what are the cumulative effects of year after year of flu shots?

these are questions for which i've sought answers, as a way of assuring myself a flu shot is a good (and safe) idea, but i have yet to really find them.

but, this season, i'll be in an office again. i'll be working at least three days a week, every week until likely the end of january, in a compound housing a couple thousand people.

and their cooties.

i've already found myself obsessively sanitizing my hands each time i return to my desk from a trip to the kitchen or the restroom (where i've already washed them), and being super-careful which handles i grab and how i press elevator buttons (with my knuckles, not fingertips). when someone else touches my computer keyboard or mouse, i wait until they've left and then quickly give whatever it is a wipe with a sanitizing cloth. but it's all getting exhausting and i'm only three days into a three-month gig.

so, i've started to consider a flu shot. but i remain uncertain on so many levels.

back to the grindstone

today was my first day back at the office for another stint of indeterminate length. i realized on my way home that i probably could have been given some kind of determination of length had i just remembered to ask, but i didn't so i wasn't.

perhaps tomorrow.

returning to my desk -- and i did note how funny it was that i referred to it as "my" desk, given that the shoes, glasses and assorted knick-knacks of its previous, plagiarizing inhabitant are still in its adjacent cupboard some six months after she last sat her bum in what is now "my" chair -- was odd.

it felt foreign, as though i'd been gone for a year, and yet immediately familiar, as though i'd never really left.

and, in some ways, i hadn't really left. even though i wasn't there for eight weeks, i'd continued to work for my editor and others at the company while i was at home. each time i thought i'd finished my last assignment and could finally take some real time off, another writing gig would pop up within a day or two. sometimes less.

it was nice to walk in and have a couple of my pals say, excitedly, "vickie's back! yay!"

and, soon, i fell back into the rhythm of the routine. same old, same old. writing. editing. fixing punctuation. crossing off items on my daily list of tasks. heading down to the cafeteria for soup at lunch time.

but the water cooler is broken, so my twice daily trips through the cubicles of the big, fancy entertainment magazine around the corner and near the kitchen have, for now, been rerouted to the opposite end of the floor.

where the water comes out of a cooler in the teeniest, flimsiest of trickles.

walking in sunshine

yesterday, i decided i wanted to go an adventure.

mom and YB are in the states, cross-border shopping for a few days, and i knew i'd have to go back to work on tuesday (tomorrow!), so i was itching to get out and use trix's camera to take some final autumnal photos before all the colour disappears and i'm at a desk in an office all day.

i'd narrowed down my sunday-adventure options to two possibilities: take the subway and bus out to the east pole to go to the scarborough bluffs and guildwood park, OR take the subway and the ferry and head over to the toronto islands.

both options involved doing something i'd never really done before (or, at least, not in a really really long time) -- i haven't been to bluffers park since i was a child and, likewise, my childhood visits to the toronto islands were always in summer and usually consisted of centreville, feeding the ducks and maybe a quick visit to the beach -- and both would get me out into nature.

the weather was spectacular -- sunny, breezy, crisp and mild -- so either destination would have been fine, but i ultimately opted for the islands. it would be easier to get to, transit-wise, and had the added appeal of the ferry ride. plus, probably, ducks.

so, i got up a little early (not hard, since it was fall-back sunday!), packed my knapsack with water, a granola bar and two cameras -- YB's canon rebel and my little point-and-shoot -- and then printed off a map of the islands. since it's now the off-season, the amusement park portion of the place is closed, and the main ferry no longer runs. so, it would be a short ride to ward's island, and then a loooooooong walk from one end of the island to the other.

riding on the subway to union station, i felt like a little kid. this was exciting and fun, and i couldn't wait to get off the ferry to explore. i imagined that the islands, which are lush with enormous trees and vegetation, would be stunning, and i kind of hoped not too many other people were having the same adventure-seeking idea.

after a pre-ferry pee (i didn't know whether any of the public restrooms on the islands were open in the off-season), i handed in my ticket and boarded the comparatively tiny ward's island ferry. during the summer, the city operates big, old, multi-level ferry boats to various docks but, at this time of year and due to the dramatic decrease in visitor traffic, it's just the one small boat. it's standing-room only on the deck, unless you go inside one of the two small interior rooms with benches. i stayed outside.

with a big toot of its horn, the ferry headed out. as mentioned, the weather was gorgeous, so many of us on board whipped out cameras and began snapping photos of the toronto skyline. the deck was full -- a few tourists, lots of families with kids, older couples and a slew of folks with bikes -- and there was a really lovely, cheerful energy in the air.

after about 10 minutes, the ferry pulled into its slip and everyone hopped off. i'd arrived! i was so excited to explore and wasn't sure how or where to start, so i took out my printed map, chose the perimeter (i.e., runs along the water) route and started walking.

the paths and sidewalks in the residential area were deserted, and some of the homes and cottages looked like they might have been closed up for the winter (though, residents DO live there all year 'round). many were what i'd call "rustic," looking like they belong up north in muskoka and not 10 minutes from downtown toronto. some houses were modern and fancy, but most were cute, colourful and quaint.

as i wandered the paths, i was kind of amazed at the distinct lack of people and of noise. i mean, i know it was a cool fall morning and folks were probably inside having breakfast or watching TV, but it was SO quiet and peaceful, with just the sound of lapping waves and the wind through the leaves in the trees. i immediately knew why so many people want to live there. [as an aside: it's not an easy task, though, since island residency is strictly regulated and the waiting list is long (you can read a bit about the fascinating process here).]

the route around the perimeter of the island was paved at first, and then became a wooden-plank boardwalk. since each plank was slightly different in width, my footfalls became oddly musical because each one was in a different pitch. once in a while i'd come upon other visitors sitting on benches and gazing at the water, or residents out for a stroll with friends, but most of the way i was alone with my thoughts and the sound of my steps.

eventually, the path wrapped around to the main centre island beach, with its long concrete pier and shuttered concession stands. walking around there, without anyone else around, was cool and a teensy bit creepy. looking down at the water from the pier, i couldn't believe how clear it was and how sandy the bottom appeared. i remember nothing but rocks and pebbles on the lake floor, so it was neat to see that, beyond the break wall, it was actually really pretty. (polluted, i'm sure, but pretty.)

i wandered towards centreville through the now-dormant gardens and now-drained fountains, snapping photos as i went. the colourful trees looked stunning against the clear blue sky, and seeing everything "asleep" for the winter was too good not to shoot. there were monarch butterflies flitting around and, every now and again, people on bikes would cruise past as they tooled around the paths. even though it was a windy day, the protected inlets and channels of the islands were dead still, creating almost-magical reflections. i took pictures of those, too.

making my way through centreville, the amusement-park section of the island, was like stepping onto a movie set… the set of a movie about some kind of eerie apocalypse where everyone on earth disappears but everything else remains intact and fine. i have never, ever been to centreville when it wasn't overrun with people, so meandering amidst the buildings and closed rides and being the only person there was really fabulous and somewhat freaky. there was a part of my brain that said, "you know, maybe this isn't the safest idea you've ever had -- you could be dragged off into the bushes or one of these buildings and no one would hear you." thankfully, i'd invariably spot a family or another woman or other wanderers whenever this thought crept into my head. still, i stayed in open areas.

btw, when i went past some of the food stations, i swear i could still smell the delicious aroma of fresh candy apples. no idea how or why -- maybe candy-apple ghosts?

the only place that boasted activity was the "far enough farm," since most -- if not all -- of the animals are housed there year-round. i could hear the goats bleating before i ever saw them, along with the quacking of the ducks and honking of the geese. there were sheep, horses, donkeys, pigs and all manner of avian life from chickens and turkeys to swans. as i took photos, i also kept an eye on the time -- the ferry doesn't run too often in off-season, and my walk across the island had taken an hour, so i wanted to be sure to begin the trek back early enough that i wouldn't wind up having to sprint to the finish to catch my ride back to the mainland.

when i started back, i decided to check the soles of my shoes. with all the ducks and geese and water fowl around, i was sure i probably stepped in a lot of poop of varying origin. yep, sure enough, when i turned my foot upward and looked at the bottom of my shoe, green and brown poop was embedded between every tread. i picked up a stick and carried it back with me -- i knew i'd pick all that crap out once i got to the dock. no way did i want that stuff coming home with me, so i didn't want to leave it stuck any longer than necessary.

i took a different route (along the interior) back to ward's island. along the way, i noticed a big swing set with two rubber-saddle type swings. there was no one around and i knew i had some time to spare, so i walked over, sat in a swing… and swung! i hadn't done that in decades and instantly i was a child again. i decided to try to snap a photo of myself swinging, and the results were some shots of my feet in mid-air and a couple of my shadow as it raced along the sandy ground. unfortunately, the act of photographing myself while in motion started to make me queasy, so i turned the camera off, slowed my swing and got off.

when i arrived back at the dock, i took out my stick and picked my shoes as clean as i could. i ate my granola bar and had some water, and then just watched people kind of trickle in. i took some pictures for a russian family who wanted to be photographed with the skyline in the background. there were far fewer waiting for the ride back, but it was only mid-afternoon. yet when the ferry from the city arrived, it was packed! a flood of people disembarked -- bikes, dogs and kids in tow -- to begin their adventures just as i was ending mine.

on the way back across the lake, i reflected on the day. as excited as i had been, when i started out in the morning there *was* a small part of me that was sad that i was doing this alone… that, like most activities i undertake, i was doing it by myself. but, even though that feeling did bubble to the surface a few times while i was on the island (taking photos of oneself when one is solo is always a creative challenge… but one i think i've mastered :-)), i thought about how great it felt to have had this day all to myself. the island was so empty that it felt like i had *that* to myself, too. and it was fun. and it was meditative. and it was soul-nourishing. it was creative. and it was something so totally, completely, wonderfully me. *this* is the kind of outing i love and, i realized, i love them because they are so very much uniquely mine.

and, finally, it was tiring! by the time i got off the ferry and started heading towards the subway, i could feel my 2 1/2 hours of walking in my legs and in my back. i was very glad to sit down, and pretty pooped, but delighted that my adventure had been so rewarding and awesome.

oh, f-word

this afternoon, i arrived at my parents' house to do laundry and bake cookies. i'd be staying overnight so that, first thing in the morning, mom and i would head out to do some shopping.

about five minutes ago, i realized -- to my horror -- that i'd forgotten to bring along my thyroid medication.

the medication i have to take first thing in the morning, an hour before breakfast.

every day.

F-WORD.

this means that, instead of heading out to shop, i (and, likely, mom) will be heading ALL THE EFFING WAY BACK DOWNTOWN to my apartment at the ass crack of dawn so i can take my pill.

it's 45 minutes each way by transit, and a half-hour each way by car.

either way, it's annoying and i am a moron.

thresholds

earlier this week, i mused that maybe i was getting too used to being at home and not at the office, and wondered if i’d be ready to return if i was suddenly summoned back early. i’d had this feeling for the past week or so that it might happen – originally, i was to go return at the end of october, but that was pushed back to the end of november. okee doke. i settled into my home routine and planned out the weeks in a very rough, maybe-i'll-do-this-or-that way.

still, i had this a nagging feeling that maybe i should get my ducks in a row and start crossing stuff of my “to do while i’m off” list lest that time off be unexpectedly cut short.

sure enough, yesterday afternoon (nov. 2nd), my editor emailed me to ask if i’d be interested in returning earlier than planned.

“how much earlier?” i replied, fearing the answer would be “tomorrow.”

turns out, not tomorrow... but next week. three days a week for the next few weeks, gradually (possibly) moving up to five days a week by december.

when i finished my last in-office stint back in september, it felt kind of weird to be back at home. now that i’ve been home for about six weeks – though, not really “off” since i never actually stopped working during those weeks – it feels kind of weird to be heading back to the office.

but that’s not the point of this particular blog post.

over the course of 2011 i’ve been employed. i’ve earned an income. as the months passed and i started to reach financial goals i’d set, i realized that i might be on course for the most successful freelance year i’ve ever had. when, yesterday, i agreed to return to the office, i decided to calculate my gross annual income up to this point and what i estimated i'd earn by year's end. i’d calculated it back in september, but hadn’t updated the figure to include all the work i did in october (and it was a LOT of work).

as i tallied and totalled, i was stunned.

as of right now, this minute, i’ve earned as much as i did the first year i worked full-time at the magazine. and i still have the rest of november and most of december to go. you would think that finding that out would send me over the moon with delight and, in some ways, it did.

but, more than anything, it filled me with a curious sense of anxiety and fear.

partly, i couldn’t believe that i’d done it. that i’d gone from back-to-back years of earning next to nothing, and having to file net losses on my last two tax returns, to earning enough on which to live and to contribute to my RRSP and to put into savings. i’d actually earned a living as a freelancer for the first time in years, and done better than i ever thought i would.

so much so that i actually have to start charging HST (that is: sales tax, for the non-canadian readers). as a freelancer, you only have to do that once you hit a certain income threshold, and then it’s mandatory. and, to be honest, i never thought i would ever hit that number. ever. i always figured that my freelancing would max out at maybe $25K a year, which would be fine and would pay for all my living expenses and would keep me in the black without major issue.

but i’ve already exceeded that.

something i never really thought i’d do.

and that threw me for a major loop. hitting that mark means i've reached a point in my career i didn't imagine possible (for me). and one i wasn't even sure i ever wanted.

but i’ve done it.

so, mainly, instead of feeling like i should celebrate it, my brain immediately went into its all too familiar mode of self-doubt and panic. “what if next year is a bust? what if this is just an anomaly and next year i go back to the income template of 2010 or 2009, where there was no money coming in? what if this is too good to be true? i can’t get comfortable with this reality. it might be fleeting. i shouldn’t celebrate, i should be very cautious moving forward.”

even though i mentally talked myself through it, that uncertain feeling lingers. as though 2011 was a fluke. i’m really hoping 2012 blows 2011 out of the water, and that i can rack up a few more years just like this one, but there’s a part of me that – however crazy it sounds – still braces for the opposite. (this is part of the reason i’m seeing a therapist, btw. ;-))

in the meantime, i’m meeting mom for a celebratory lunch today. and then maybe some shopping for winter work clothes. tuesday morning will roll around very quickly.