One Week to Blastoff
If all goes as planned — that is, if the winter that won’t end lets up a little — I’ll be on the highway to Montréal in exactly one week from today. Cleopatrick arrived yesterday evening to give me a hand with the move. His train was more than 2 hours late arriving in Halifax because it had to go through the latest brutal snowstorm that struck Québec and northern New Brunswick. In addition to driving shotgun with me to Montréal, he will help me pack and unpack, which is something he’s done more times than he cares to count in the last 14 years, making him a begrudging pro at it.
Fortunately, everybody from the movers to Cleopatrick have declared that this move won’t be such a big deal because I don’t really have that much stuff. For me, though, it’s a huge deal because I don’t move often and tend to take roots wherever I end up living. And with projects like moving, I’m the impatient type who wants it done before I’ve even started.
I will miss the magnificent windows in my Halifax apartment. The proximity of my friends here. The beach. But that’s about it. Montréal will be better on all other fronts, not to mention that I fear Esposo would pull out his abundant hair were he forced to live in quaint little Halifax. And it’s good that we’ll be starting our life together in a city we both know but that is still essentially new to us.