I’m having a bit of an anxiety attack. I’m sitting on my kitchen floor, back to the god-awful blue coloured cupboards and I’m not sure if I should continue.
There’s a bin now for donations, several boxes of kitchen stuff and then my one box for shipping that I keep adding to. Looking at my scrawled handwriting on the side to label the boxes I was sort of taken aback. The muffin tins that I had brought with me I had in fact used many times. The 19 year old version of me never would have made muffins. Neither would she have used as many baking pans or value her favourite spatula like I do now. Or have possessive tendencies about the 1950s radio always positioned in whatever kitchen is attached to my living quarters.
Everytime I run over with an addition the thought is, it’s for ‘our’ life. Not just me anymore. The white flowered pot that I remember my mother always using for Kraft Dinner is in that bin. Then again, there are some brown coloured glass pots that I plan on giving away. They were some of the first things I ever had in my first real apartment. I can only recall roommates using those particular ones now.
The two teapots were both gifts, one bestowed upon me by my mother again hoping to have tea dates. The other a rarity from Chinatown given by my old friend Tyler.
I always have anxiety attacks when packing the kitchen it seems. The first time it was because I was actually entitled to be in the kitchen. Today I’m waiting for my little mouse friend to come scampering by and check up on me.
It’s almost like a divorce, what’s yours is mine, what’s mine is yours. Mariel and I have become confused over such items. She’s leaving behind quite a bit too.
When I was travelling in Europe I had peculiar habit, one that I know overweight American and French tourists to do- collecting magnets. These magnets are a source of pride. Some of the lovely messages friends have left on the fridge thanks to our dirty british poetry magnets include these gems- “make boys do me” and “get in to mate” , and “coffee + curry = bathroom”
I collected in each country I visited them with the intention of, well, I might as well tell you now. You know when someone spends the night and the next day goes to have a drink of whatever, they have to be confronted by the fridge. And let me just say, my fridge is awesome.
Now’s the time I share what Mariel and I have been recording all year in our lovely little flat on Somerset Street West.
Car Accidents- 5 (though scribbled underneath is ‘ashton saw 2 on July 7th’)
Murders -1 (this happened up the street)
Mice- 3
Fights Witnessed – 5
Blow –up Dolls discovered- 1
Guns discovered- 1
Lost Keys- 2
Incidents of Blondeness – 10
Fires- 3
Number of Times the cops have come to our Apartment- 1
Arrests Witnessed- 4
Personal Breakdowns – 3
Times hit on by Bums- 7
Plague/Natural Disaster – 6
Parades outside our windows- 2
Attempted Assault and/or Theft- 5
Number of times approached as prostitutes- 4
Wine Glasses Broken- 13
Photoshoots - 2
Number of times broken into- 0
There’s another sheet of things we’ve infamously announced and seemed worthwhile to record but a lot of it is highly inappropriate or just downright embarrassing now.
I would not be the same person now had I not moved into this flat in October last year. Relationships would not have occurred the same, I’m convinced. The amount of socializing with all the clubs being just up the street, also pretty intense.
Anyways, I’ve calmed down some and have to finish packing before my ride is here.
There’s a bin now for donations, several boxes of kitchen stuff and then my one box for shipping that I keep adding to. Looking at my scrawled handwriting on the side to label the boxes I was sort of taken aback. The muffin tins that I had brought with me I had in fact used many times. The 19 year old version of me never would have made muffins. Neither would she have used as many baking pans or value her favourite spatula like I do now. Or have possessive tendencies about the 1950s radio always positioned in whatever kitchen is attached to my living quarters.
Everytime I run over with an addition the thought is, it’s for ‘our’ life. Not just me anymore. The white flowered pot that I remember my mother always using for Kraft Dinner is in that bin. Then again, there are some brown coloured glass pots that I plan on giving away. They were some of the first things I ever had in my first real apartment. I can only recall roommates using those particular ones now.
The two teapots were both gifts, one bestowed upon me by my mother again hoping to have tea dates. The other a rarity from Chinatown given by my old friend Tyler.
I always have anxiety attacks when packing the kitchen it seems. The first time it was because I was actually entitled to be in the kitchen. Today I’m waiting for my little mouse friend to come scampering by and check up on me.
It’s almost like a divorce, what’s yours is mine, what’s mine is yours. Mariel and I have become confused over such items. She’s leaving behind quite a bit too.
When I was travelling in Europe I had peculiar habit, one that I know overweight American and French tourists to do- collecting magnets. These magnets are a source of pride. Some of the lovely messages friends have left on the fridge thanks to our dirty british poetry magnets include these gems- “make boys do me” and “get in to mate” , and “coffee + curry = bathroom”
I collected in each country I visited them with the intention of, well, I might as well tell you now. You know when someone spends the night and the next day goes to have a drink of whatever, they have to be confronted by the fridge. And let me just say, my fridge is awesome.
Now’s the time I share what Mariel and I have been recording all year in our lovely little flat on Somerset Street West.
Car Accidents- 5 (though scribbled underneath is ‘ashton saw 2 on July 7th’)
Murders -1 (this happened up the street)
Mice- 3
Fights Witnessed – 5
Blow –up Dolls discovered- 1
Guns discovered- 1
Lost Keys- 2
Incidents of Blondeness – 10
Fires- 3
Number of Times the cops have come to our Apartment- 1
Arrests Witnessed- 4
Personal Breakdowns – 3
Times hit on by Bums- 7
Plague/Natural Disaster – 6
Parades outside our windows- 2
Attempted Assault and/or Theft- 5
Number of times approached as prostitutes- 4
Wine Glasses Broken- 13
Photoshoots - 2
Number of times broken into- 0
There’s another sheet of things we’ve infamously announced and seemed worthwhile to record but a lot of it is highly inappropriate or just downright embarrassing now.
I would not be the same person now had I not moved into this flat in October last year. Relationships would not have occurred the same, I’m convinced. The amount of socializing with all the clubs being just up the street, also pretty intense.
Anyways, I’ve calmed down some and have to finish packing before my ride is here.
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