Squirrelly in Seattle.

Spring is making it's way to town. Puddles as deep as lakes are finding their way to the lowest lying parts of the Exchange and boots are a must. Funny, I haven't seemed to notice the grey skies at all these days. This morning I woke in a dark home, rose with conviction, packed my lunch for work and came over to the coffeeshop where I am now, watching the mist between punctuation.

A few things.

I have been feeling a bit strange these days for no specific reason that I can tap a finger on. Spring is coming. I have a new job (shocking) working in a custom cabinetry wood shop in the Exchange a few days of the week. So far the work has been basic enough for me to grasp. To be frank, I love every minute. I love the heady smell of the wood, I love the dust, I love the masks in the spray room, I love mixing lacquer, I love measurements and the powertools. I love it all. I really enjoy repetitious physical labor, especially if it involves wood. So far I have sanded, sanded, sanded, bevelled, planed, sprayed and sanded. Today I am attaching one million hinges to cabinets nearly ready for installation. The entire experience has been pretty incredible and while there are windows where I feel like a complete and utter imbecile, most of the time I think of my dad (which is really nice) or I just watch Ross and Alfie build the most beautiful cabinets while I work at my station (I get a station!). The process is beautiful. This is something I have always wanted to do and it feels nice to be learning it before I go and do something else I love. For the most part, it feels really nice to work in a place that feels familiar in my memory. My dad's shop is brighter, but smells identical to Ross'. I am happy with my rough hands.

Another thing. The reality of leaving for the bush and beyond is coming to a head. Yesterday I walked in circles around my apartment, placing imaginary price tags on all the things I am ready to part ways with. What a process. Leaving another home, school placement (or not) pending, packing, culling, trimming the fat, organizing, what to do, what to do? I suppose this is the epicenter of my squirreliness. In the interim I have and will continue to cycle hard despite the rain and the grey skies. It is good for me. Last night, while riding home from a birthday party in the other end of the city, I booked it down Assinaboine on a whim (I usually take Memorial to Ellice, but was feeling the sleepy scenic route last night) and ran dead into Jill, Lo and Sula coming home from a late dinner in Little Vietnam. We are drawn into each other when we are supposed to. So there was an impromptu Girl Club in Sula's living room, clothes were auctioned off (she is also trimming the fat, we all are) and it felt good just to sit in the presence of these women, squirrely or not. We are all in transition. Something beyond anyone's control must be shifting, happening, bumping us along. So long as I am moving, I suppose. None of these things penned are complaints. For the most part I am deliriously happy with things, it is the inevitable change looming around the corner that freaks me out. It always does. And in the long run, I am always grateful for it. Wait and see.

In the meantime, enjoy Spring. I am. And how.

I can't write these days. I want to, but I cannot.

M