Snow is such a heavy thing, and now that it’s gone everyone is out and about around the city. I like this thing they call Spring. It makes me wish I had important errands to run, and intriguing places to be. As it is, however, I haven’t any errands nor places in which to exist. Ho hum. Spring is certainly here, and we all flock outside making up for months of missing sunlight. I’m glad I haven’t missed the turning of the seasons. I was afraid that I might, since my apartment can be such a heinous pit of lethargic splendor. Today I put on my cord blazer, tied a green scarf around my neck, eased into my birkenstock clogs, and went for a lovely stroll through the neighbourhood. It made me wish that I had more to show for the months of indoor winter-hating that made me make the most of my un-productivity and missing creative urges. I spent the Winter dreaming of places I’d rather be, people I wish I still held on the ends of my hands, and absent art that I know I am capable of creating. What is this malaise? It’s all I can ever talk about. Here’s hoping that it fades away while the temperature climbs.

So change is all around, and I’m sure that somewhere north of where I am now animals are getting ready for the sick and horrific pain of childbirth, trees are starting to think about their green leafy dresses, and the dirt is about to spit up some colourful spears of pretty things from the depths of its carcass rotting decomposing circle of life. Spring is a beautiful thing, more so because it’s a countdown to Summer. And now that Winter is over, things are changing around me and I remain as is.

Friday was a sad day. My sister and brother-in-law moved into their new house on the other side of the city. They had, until that dreadful moving day of loss, lived in the same building as me all tucked away near High Park on the West side of Toronto. (They had lived in this building for nearly 7 years; I moved in last summer). And now they have a beautiful 75 year-old abode across the city, in the unknown East side somewhere between the Danforth and the Beaches (or as those who live there call it, The Beach). Their buying a house is a wonderful rite of passage for them. They’ve been married for 3 years, and (I think) want to have everything in place to work on their picket fence protocols such as children and power tools. I mean, who wants to raise a family in a fairly ditchy apartment building with shoddy windows and obnoxious neighbours? No one. Therefore, I support their moving. And their house is gorgeous. It’s definitely the kind of place I would love to inhabit someday (exposed brick wall, hardwood floors, tall ceilings, huge kitchen, patio, etc). But now that they are gone, I miss them terribly. I used to walk up to their place (they are on the 3rd floor, I am on the 1st) and watch their cable, listen to stories about the damn wiener kids they teach, and just sit in a familial atmosphere. And I liked knowing they were there, just in case something happened to me. I suppose this is fairly co-dependent of me, and I know that it’ll be fine and just needs some getting used to… but.. I miss my sister. We’ve never been peers, since she is 8 years my senior, but we are very similar and enjoy each other’s company for errands and idle Sunday afternoons. After the movers had emptied their apartment, she came down to bid me farewell. And of course, in true O’Meara-girl fashion, we both started crying. I think we’re the same in that we love change, and constantly thrive for it.. but are far too nostalgic to let anything go. Perhaps not. I guess I’m not terribly sure. But I do know this for certain: I desperately need change now.