Summer Cleaning

I seem to be in the midst of a big cathartic clean. What that means exactly is yet to be determined, but all I know is I have that feeling I used to get back when I leaned obsessive-compulsive (much moreso than I do now) and couldn't stop cleaning my room late at night once I started. There is just too much to be done this time, so I get at it in fits and bursts.

Tonight its been my room (a little) and my computer. Changing machines is always a process, and this one is thankfully almost at a close. I have yet to tackle email, but thanks to gmail's brilliance I am not so pressed this time. I will import my addresses to its system and won't even bother configuring Outlook. Anyways. While going through a stack of unlabeled CDs (not to self: label all future CDs to prevent having to go through stacks of them) I came upon a ton of photos on CD that I thought I had lost forever. Photos from last summer, I remembered the Castle and had a good nostalgic sigh, resolving to clean up my albums and go through them again.

Next came organizing my photos, and I started to compile those I had taken last year and thrown onto my drive in unlabeled but for dates. I wanted to create a master folder of Montreal shots, because I'd taken advantage of my digicam and had tons of 'walking' sets that I had taken on my regular traipses throughout the city. I found myself feeling choked up. Now I never thought I was over Montreal, of course not, but I thought I had gotten to a point where I could/would deal with it in a mature fashion. Apparently not. Apparently I am still in denial, still want to be back there and still can't let go of my life there. I just don't think about it here, and so I don't get upset.

Last night he sent me his first original song, and I cried. I had to pick up the phone to have someone near me. His words cut through me, even though I know he did not write them with me in mind. Perhaps that is the hardest thing about listening to them, I know all too well who they are for, and wish so much that they were mine. That he was mine. Like the city itself, he is still inside of me. The two ideas are so entwined that I can't escape either one.

Turns out, I need to clean a lot more than my room.