Turn Turn Turn

Actually, last Sunday was my anniversary. Two years at my school. Two years in this sleepy little town. It was uneventful. Last year I at least got a cake, but this year, nothing. Hmph!! Actually, my boss didn't even realize the anniversary had passed; I mentioned it the day after.

My time here is coming to a close. I have to light the fire under my boss's ass to make sure she books me a flight home and is looking for a new teacher in earnest. She has a real tendency to do things last minute. The thing is, I'm not really looking forward to reminding her to help make sure I get all wrapped up here. As a matter of fact, I'm starting to totally freak out! Looking around my apartment at the 4 and a half years worth of stuff I've managed to accumulate and which will all need to be sorted and packed up is completely daunting. I don't even know what I'm going to DO with all of it!

I'd been thinking for quite some time that I was going to pack up a lot of my things - winter clothes and books and such, and ship them off via surface mail back to Canada. Then just last week I realized that I might be back here before the stuff arrives back overseas! So now I'm thinking about checking out the possibility of storage. But will I be back? I'll be back. When will I be back? What the hell am I doing?

Speaking of huge daunting tasks, the thought of what I'm going to do with Kamikaze has been on my mind for forever, it seems. He's not very well socialized, and he doesn't travel well. The last time he left the apartment, over a year ago, he yowled all the way downtown to the vet's, and then peed all over me. If I'm taking him back to Canada with me, I have to get his rabies shots sorted out pronto. It bugs me to have to do this, he hasn't been out of the apartment for two years, with the exception of that one vet visit. There's no way he has rabies. Unless he got it from Gary the Grass Pig. The flight back to Canada is a long one, probably with more than one stop-over. He'll have to fly in the cargo hold, because he weighs 200 pounds. I don't mind not having him under the seat in front of me either, if he ended up freaking out for the duration of the flight, so would I.

Back in Canada, I am effectively homeless and will probably be flitting about the province for a good month and a half. Kamikaze would probably stay at my mother's place, but there's another cat there. I don't know how well he'd handle that. In general, I don't know how he's going to cope with all the change, and it worries me.

For anyone who feels like pointing out, like my sister-in-law did, that "he's just a cat," I know! But he's MY cat. He is, to me, what Wilson the Volleyball was to Tom Hanks in Castaway.

Anyhow, C. actually said he would take care of him while I'm gone. When I asked him, I wasn't actually serious, and I didn't expect he'd say yes. Besides my friend Goldie, who eats about 17 cans of tuna a day, (Kamikaze followed him around like G was a rock star and K, a middle-school girl with a crush) C. is actually the only other person Kamikaze likes. Which is great. So I'm considering leaving my cat in his care. I'm not even positive C. was serious when he said yes, and I'm not sure he will still want the responsibility once I give him all the details of how to care for Kamikaze. ("He likes these songs before bedtime, and these other ones in the morning, and jeeze, I told you, you have to sing them in falsetto! Otherwise Kamikaze will get upset and have diarrhea all over your shoe!) Either way, I'm worried.

Worry, worry, I'm turning into my mother.

Time keeps whizzing by. I feel like I've got my arms outstretched in front of me, trying in vain to slow it down - "whoa, whoa, easy there, now!" I'm excited about seeing my pals and family back in Canada, but I'm also really quite sad at the thought of this chapter, these last two years, coming to a close. I've really gotten quite used to my life here. I'm actually very fond of it. It's bumpy at times, and I do get frustrated, but generally I'm quite content. I invite the prospect of new happy times, but I worry, like I often do, that things will never be the same. More so that I might never feel the same.

I know, though, that fearing change is just a silly waste of time. It's the one thing that is constant. Everything changes. My head knows that, but yet still, my heart's flipping out a bit. Now dentists, though, there's something to really be scared of.