Actually, I know I will miss it

I am laying on a bare mattress that rests in the middle of the floor in an empty room. It is my last night in North Bay - ever, or at least for the foreseeable future.
I’ve thought very little about my actual departure from this city. It has been a date marked on my calendar for months now surrounded by exclamation points and stars, but, other than considering the kinds of supplies I’d require to pack up the house, I’d never really given much thought to the other implications the date held. I am leaving this city essentially the same way I entered it: without any real attachments to its inhabitants and less than thrilled about my living arrangements once I settle into my new life.
Despite making many friends, I knew that each goodbye I made was permanent – unless, of course, it was the other party who made the effort to keep in touch. In truth, I dodged goodbyes wherever possible and implemented a strict “no hugging” rule for the ones I found myself unintentionally caught in. This statement sounds slightly depressing, but I never expected to make lasting relationships in this city and found relief in the fact that it seems I haven't.


But not before exclaiming, "This is why I broke-up with you!"

I was surprised when my cell phone rang because, after all, I can't recall having ever given anyone the number - not intentionally at least. I narrowed my eyes at it in hopes that my sheer level of annoyance would cause it to cease its vibrating and cower away in a corner somewhere. When it became clear that the phone was not going to make things easy, I flipped it open and proceeded to offer up a half-assed greeting to whoever was on the other side.
"This is Corey," an unfamiliar male voice announced, "you broke up with me three days ago."
Oh. Corey.
Truth be told, I did not actually know Corey by name. You see, last week I got drunk and decided it would be hilarious to send the same text message out to each member of my family. The idea had come from an episode of the television show 7th Heaven, in which one of the Camden's daughters is broken up with via text message. "M br8kn up w/u," the text read.
What I forgot was that my sister had terminated her old cell phone plan before she went away to Europe/Africa approximately a year and a half ago, and I had failed to update my phone's address book with her new phone number. Needless to say, with a number that was less than current, my sister never got my hilarious text message. Instead, it went to Corey.
Oh, Corey.
Dear, sweet, creepy Corey. Distraught over our break-up, he called my cell phone in a last ditch effort to save our relationship. In what can best be described as two and a half of the most awkward minutes of my life, I attempted to explain the hilarity of my mix-up to the voice on the other end of the phone. When he failed to laugh the way I felt he should and quickly proceeded to accuse me of stalking him, I hung up the phone.


Save(d) as Draft(s)

I keep having nightmares about dying, night after night.
I used to think that I wasn't afraid of death, but I have come to realize that I was deluding myself.
I am afraid completely afraid to die. The idea leaves me terrified.

I still mean every promise I have ever made.

I used to have an intense desire to own a white duck.
I had it all planned out. The duck's name would be Professor McQuacks and he would follow me every where. We would go to the park together where I would feed him pieces of bread as he swam in the water and the other ducks looked on in jealousy. At the end of each day, I would tuck Professor McQuacks into my bed and read him a bedtime story. However, in the morning I would wake-up with a bad case of salmonella and realize that I had accidentally rolled over the Professor in my sleep.

I sprayed the air freshener in the sign of the holy cross, hoping against all hope that it would somehow purge the smell, that was surely evil, from the room. It didn't though.

My sister is always giving me inside information on things that I don't care about, like dessert wines and diamond mining. "I will let you come to my champagne tasting," she tells me one evening, "I will only make you pay $100."

I have a hard time thinking of myself in terms of anything but goofy looking. I feel incredibly self-conscious when talking about my physical appearance because, after all, I have looked in a mirror before and been greeted by the sight of my bulbous nose and Charlie Brown-like head.


But I'll know for sure Friday morning

It's a race against the clock. Which will come first, my period or my annual physical?
Only time will tell.