So I woke up today to the sound of a ringing phone and to the smell of instant coffee. I roused myself up, went downstairs (that's right, there's a downstairs), poured myself a borderline-enormous bowl of Raisin Bran, read the London Free Press, then spent a good chunk of the afternoon both indulging in a Rogers cable package and helping my parents put patio furniture into the shed.
Yes, that's right, I'm home. For the third straight year, my Toronto work commitments have ended by November 1, thus leaving me with no solid financial reason (nor ability) to stay in the Big Smoke. As my friends Ian and Aron say, it's like I'm going into my hibernation. I go to Toronto for several months of the year, but come the colder months, I schlep back to London and disappear. This is not, for the record, the first time I've been compared to a bear --- my friend Antonio once said that if I was gay, I'd be the type of gay male known as 'a bear.' I decided to take this as a compliment. It also occurred to me that perhaps the perfect example of a 'bear' homosexual would be Al Borland from Home Improvement. He has a beard, he wears flannel like it's going out of style (editor's note: it is out of style), and he spends his day handling tools alongside a grunting male. Wait a second, have I just stumbled onto a hidden subtext of Home Improvement? Maybe Wilson kept his face hidden as a metaphor for hiding in the closet, not being able to reveal his true self.
But really, aside from the body hair and love of pic-a-nic baskets, I have little in common with bears. For one thing, I doubt that bears go back to their caves kicking themselves for not being able to find a job in order to keep them awake and in Toronto all year round. Also, very few bears read the London Free Press. I attribute this to bears having a reading comprehension level above the second grade. But hey, it'll be fun being back home for a few months. I already know I'm coming back to TO in the spring, so this is in many ways a vacation. I get to kick back, catch up on my reading and writing, hang out with some of my closest friends, and come up with more clever ways to mock my dad for being a Cleveland Browns fan (example #1: show him a tape of Thursday's game against Denver).
Plus, not to mention the fact that from living at home for a few months, I get to re-live parts of my childhood. Sleep in the same bed, use the same old PC downstairs....though I guess I'm technically perpetuating a stereotype by blogging from my mother's basement. Hell, I even got into an argument with my brother today. It was just like 1997 all over again.
God, I need a job.
But anyway, pay no attention to my being huddled in a ball on the floor. Farewell, Toronto. Goodbye old apartment in Swansea. Take care, BMO Field and Sk....Sky.....Rogers Centre. So long, John's Italian Caffe, located on Baldwin Street and possessing such delicious pizza (tell 'em Mark sent you, and maybe you'll get some extra-fine service, provided the server knows someone else named Mark and presumes you're talking about them). Bon voyage, gloriously never-busy University/Avenue Road; have I just had great luck, or is that street always so traffic-free? See you soon, Lakeshore Boulevard walking path. Back in a while, all of my Toronto friends. Bonne nuit, Wheat Sheaf pub and that one clueless waiter who seems to have taken his serving lessons from Lisa Kudrow's character in Mad About You. And streetcars, I think I'll miss you most of all.
On the bright side, I wasn't woken up by a fire alarm test this morning like I was in the previous THREE FUCKING mornings in my old apartment. That's right, our family doesn't even have a smoke alarm! We don't believe in 'em! It's due to our religion, Selective Amish. Don't even get me started on the indoor plumbing situation. I just use our shed as a latrine. Sure made putting that lawn furniture away into a real interesting task.