i'm going to move to toronto and get a job in publishing, and it will be the perfect antidote to This Thing that is keeping me in bed all day. i will get the kind of job that makes me tired at night and itching to get out of bed in the morning, the kind of job that i complain about when what i really mean is i love it.

i am going to move to toronto, and get a cat, and see my cousins and their babies on a regular(-er) basis. make enough money to donate to charities, and buy fiction til my walls are so covered in books that i can listen to girls with guitars and sing along as loud as i want without my neighbours being any wiser.

i am going to move to toronto, next fall, after finishing everything i wanted to do here, having gotten closure, said goodbye, made the most vivid, indelible memories - which i will one day pass on to my children, awed- and there i will walk down the street, and i will know exactly who i am.

there i will walk down the street, and one day i will meet you.