I’ve lived in the condo on Wolfe for six years and the lot of those years were happy but maybe not happy enough. It’s time to move on, I’m done shedding tears. I’ve got to get going, sorting, cleaning and packing up all of this stuff. The Mountie called and played MP3s while I sat on my floor and went through my boxes reminiscing about the past. Laughing while leafing through all these dead trees, no time to think about how I’ve deliberately organized this to happen too fast. The realtor is my brother’s ex-girlfriend’s mother. She told me stories of Vish and Chinese tea and tied up her sign outside. Another call just two hours later; there’s already a prospective buyer interested in joining this ride. More cleaning, more sorting, more going through shit. All my old interests are fading away as I concentrate on all of the new. I don’t want to slow down, I don’t want to quit, I want to get to the next step in my life so I can open myself up to the truth. The truth of who I really am. That I’ve suppressed for so long in an effort to keep the contentment. It’s silly I know but I’m basically Jem: Illusory and truly, truly, truly outrageously full of resentment.

There are other things too. Like my eyes. How can I let go of the blindness when it’s been a part of my identity my whole life? Living with limitations is like living with lies. But a lie lived for long enough becomes your personal truth, your strength as well as your strife. Is it self-improvement or vanity that motivates me now? Is it simply a desire to be free of the pain, an admission that I’ve run out of will? Does the why matter? Does the when? Does the where and how? A Romulan wouldn’t ask such things, she’d simply set her disruptor to kill.

And there’s one more thing, one more. More important than all the rest. But I’m gonna go ahead and leave it vague and let you readers guess.