emotional purgatory

nearly two months ago i arrived, an incoherent midnight mess to Canadian immigration.

"why are you coming to Canada?"
"do you know anyone in Montreal?"
"what are you going to be doing for so long?"
"you don't know anyone in Montreal?"
"are you going to be working here?"
"how much money do you have?"
"why were you in New York City?"

endless existential exposition served by sus security.

i flubbed, i faltered, i flummoxed.
i botched, i bungled, i bumbled.
mutual torture for everyone standing between me and my apartment.
i don't know man i just need to be here right now.

i arrived to my airbnb and entered the door code.
i was instructed to wait for the green light before trying the handle, otherwise i'll fuck everything up.
no light came on, but the approval beep was audible.
i tried the door. it didn't open. ugh i fucked everything up.
i try the code again. no green light. the beep of acceptance. nothing.

i try it again.
and again.
and again.
and check the street number.
and again.
and again.
and again.

and suddenly i hear a mechanical noise, the door lock with alzheimer's realizing it's still on the clock.

thus kicked off big summer nemesis 2022: a door

this place had specific purpose - somewhere very central with a balcony to start my summer uncertainty. if COVID was to flare back up again or pivot or great introducing monkey pox then i could at least feel within the mix and not wholly isolate myself during a time i should probably definitely be around other people.

it's the what i need, warts and all. a reminder that air conditioning should be a thing you have. a reminder how important ergonomics are in being a functional human. there is a certain sensory purging in the occasional sweat-soaked sunday without a real table to sit at or a real chair to sit on. arty studio living!

the mini fridge and the countertop burner and the toaster oven. if i had an ounce of urge to be on-camera i would totally make a cooking show around airbnb kitchens. a one-skillet meal is nice and all ASSUMING YOU HAVE A SKILLET. but i make do and i take care of myself. beyond sausages on the regular. spinach wherever i can stuff it. big ups to the fresh baked ciabatta in every grocery store - canada's cheddar will make you long for the days of tilamook but the french sure know how to boulangerie.

back to basics feat. a double-headed shower and a view so prominent i'm a minor celebrity every time i step outside. my next place will have all of the luxuries i have taken for granted - for now it's a life of prone processing.



it's a lot a lot to process.

i've been asked if i'm having fun yet.
it's not that i lack levity, i'm just incapable of dreaming right now.
(which admittedly isn't very fun.)

i've been asked if i'm bored with all of this open-ended time.
the silence i hear every day is not inherently lonely.
(though i do miss human touch.)
it's currently the sound of the absence of being overwhelmed.
delightful, really.
one day it'll be the sound of opportunity.
of intent.
of time meant to spend.
but things are very simple, now.

do your dishes.
get out and about now and then.
don't get covid.
don't need a hospital.

one more month in the Saint Laurent spotlight.
two months in a less cool / more livable Mile End studio.
big ticketed events start in july.
i will get covid.
i won't need a hospital.
this is a process.

but seriously fuck that door lock it never works.