A number of things finally converged over this past weekend, leading to a much more relaxed and contented Liam.
It’s been a while since I finally felt more or less settled in where I am and what I’m doing. It’s both unsurprising that making some big changes can really change your mindset and surprising that just a couple of little things can add up to taking that so much further.
First off, the new place is magic. Not really any other way to describe it. It’s had some crazy narcotic effect on our cats, making them more affectionate with us and each other, and much more easy going in general. Go figure. It’s so much closer to work, temperate (with realistically controllable heat), painted nice colours, and just flat out much more liveable. More conducive to conducting an ordinary life. Being able to do laundry whenever I want without blowing $2.50 (or more if someone decides to screw with your dryer mid-cycle and not restart it/the dryer just flat out doesn’t work) — it’s a little thing, but it’s so freeing.
I spent an hour putting books on bookshelves, finally. Small gesture, and they’re not nearly into an acceptable ‘arrangement’ yet, as Beth and I both occasionally have Rob Gordon-esque needs for organization by theme/subject/author/no-particular-rhyme-except-what-feels-right which can take weeks of fine-tuning. But it feels like home. That gawdawful last place ate into me, got me stuck in that terrible rut, took my money, my 2006, my cat, and my gallbladder. I hope the place burns down.
There’s actual room to entertain here, there isn’t years and years of dust mites and dead air circulating through crumbling 8-storey concrete. A gas stove means fun to cook, and seeing as I’ve been doing my best to take care of Beth as she recovers from having wisdom teeth dug out of her head, every little bit helps. A double sink! Again, a tiny, seemingly insignificant thing, but doing dishes and being able to dry/rinse/put away in an easier cycle than cramming everything onto some decaying dishrack on top of a decaying fiberboard countertop is so much easier.
A new showerhead. Yeah, I know! The one we moved in with was small, little weak, visibly crusting with lime/buildup, condensed little stream of water that only measured probably 3 inches across, meaning you had to stand right in one place. But we went and bought a new one. I was initially worried a little about yet more money that hadn’t been anticipated spending, but what a difference. Nice uniform streams, a wide halo of water, nice pressure, clean — I realize it’s remarkably trivial and silly, but I felt so good after that shower, it was 11:30 after a day of laundry and cleaning and chores and unpacking and cooking but it felt like I could have gone another few hours.
So yeah, I suppose moving is never really a small change, but realistically it is just a roof and some floors, and ideally some walls, but it really does help cleanse one’s brain palette, if you will. All we need now is picture frames hung (once I get over my fear of drilling into the plaster walls) and some room-dividing bookshelves to create a faux kitchen/living room wall, and we’re set for years to come.
But contentment is a dangerous word. Having finally achieved a state wherein I’m not mostly stressed, or worrying about some such stupid thing, means I cannot relax. I have to keep moving. I can’t let pretty trappings stop me from moving forward. I’ve got a job whose ass still needs to be kicked on a regular basis. I’ve got a lady who ain’t gonna treat herself right (or probably will, but should be by me anyway). I’ve got words to write.
There are words that are fightingfightingfighting to get out. I’m reading the blog of Diablo Cody, writer of Juno, the Michael Cera/Ellen Page movie I must see. She was a stripper (college educated and kooky, mind) who decided to write a screenplay and who is now touring the country (and world) on press junkets and developing more movies and a Showtime series for Dreamworks (read: Spielberg!). Ass is there to be kicked. Not to mention the fact that Canadian nets are always developing original pilots. Mind you, most are for show so they have money on the books being spent on Canadian talent, never to see series, to keep up appearances so they can keep buying US skeins with marginally clean consciences, but hell, I’d gladly be a CanCon front! Please sir, may I? And of course milady gives me occasional kicks in the pants to shut up about wanting to write and to write. I should listen to her, as in all things. Plus I blew my lunch/downtime today at work reading this interview with Ron Moore on IGN from aaaaages ago. Dude started out by handing a spec script to a friend of a friend who was walking him through Star Trek:TNG’s set on a tour. Dude’s got a poli-sci degree, wrote a play in high school, and just knew where he was supposed to end up. I hope that sounds familiar.
I’ve gone on way too long again. Meant to drop a quick note from work, ended up peppering the whole workday with throwing darts at the blog.