Imagine There's No Heaven

I feel like I'm seeking in the same manner that somebody looks around for their glasses when they are right on the person's face.

I've spent a long time trying to expand upon my last entry and it has been exhausting. I've been trying to explain why I am not one thing and why I think another thing, revising opinions and scrapping entire entries and starting over. I feel like my mind is settled and that I can sit down and write, but then the dust just gets kicked up again.

I think this is mostly because, although I believe in the importance of spontaneity especially in cases of philosophy and spirituality, I never took the time to sit and lay down some basic groundwork in my own mind (for example: I am not a Catholic but I still wear a scapular). After I left the church, I wandered pretty aimlessly until I finally landed on a few ideas that have recently evolved. The problem is that I skipped over or didn't think much about the basic things and leaped right into the big ideas, using terms and concepts that I'm not sure I understand or at least haven't really taken the time to make a decision about. So a created a list of four questions that I had never genuinely asked myself.

Do I believe in God(s)?

Not as such. I do not believe in an extra/omnidimensional or omnipotent existence. It has taken me a long time to come to admit that. I held onto that concept like a child that won't give up it's security blanket. I do, however, hold existence itself in similar sort of mystical esteem. I accept the idea that there are very strange forces at work that we cannot yet hope to understand. For example, magick might actually be a thing. I don't really buy into it but it does make a certain amount of sense to me if I think of it from a sort of... psychodramatic point of view.

Do I believe in an afterlife?

No, but I do not believe that it strips us of our responsibilities and consequences of our actions.

What is the purpose of existence?

The purpose of existence is, in my mind, that there is no purpose. That existence is for existing, and every second I spend thinking about what I want from it or where it is going is a second spent not actually doing things and figuring things out. Even what I am doing right this very second is kind of weird, because while it is the exact opposite of what I have been talking about (learning and being instead of knowing and dissecting) I get enjoyment out of blathering about nothing and putting it out there for people to see. I like to entertain. I would like to see if people out there can enjoy a point of view that I quite like, and that has helped me a great deal.

So my answer to "Why are we here?" would be, to be happy and find a sense of worth in some fashion or another. Sometimes being happy means living for the moment, in a perpetual now; sometimes it means planning and doing something productive and getting that sense of worth.

I don't think it's weird to say that and turn around and say that I don't think there is a God or an afterlife. I don't believe the removal of a cosmic judge and watcher from the picture turns the idea of ethics on it's head. Which leads me to my next question.

What is good and evil?

No afterlife and God is not, in a stricter sense, a single being with a single will of it's own? No great entity comprised of pure goodness, or even goodness itself? Well then, how can we possibly make a clear, concise decision of what is good and evil? How can I claim that we ought to be compassionate when I have no basis, no creator to compare it to? I'm really tempted to just say "I don't know," and move on, but let's at least try.

For a long time I tried to distance myself from dualistic views of good and evil, mainly because of the sense that good is stronger was so heavily ingrained in me. Also because of a concept that was explained to me through the works of C.S. Lewis. He talked about how dualism doesn't work in this case because evil has to borrow free will, a good trait, to be evil. Evil has to actively decide to be so, and yet good can be good of itself or through free will.

There are ideas in there that I like and that I don't like. I like his distinction that good is not only a choice, but also that when things are the way they ought to be, it is a good thing. What I don't agree with is his assertion that free will is not a neutral thing. I certainly enjoy having free will (most of the time) and try to make the best use of it, but it can be used to perform acts on either side of the ethical fence. Saying free will is good because you don't need it to be good doesn't make a whole lot of sense to me. So, to bring it back around, I can't help but have this nagging inclination that, while the "forces of good and evil" (whatever that means to you) might not be exactly equal in strength or will or power or whatever, that it's difficult to imagine one without the other. Good things are called good, I think, because they can be compared to evil.

If a person doesn't go around stabbing people, helps friends when he sees they are in distress and tries to be decent but generally minds his own business, we would say that is a good person.

If a person, say, becomes a doctor and goes overseas to help impoverished countries, donates regularly to homeless shelters and generally dedicates their life to helping others, we would say that is a very good person.

Killing people, taking their things, hurting people physically or emotionally, hatred. These are evil things, n'est-ce pas?

So if we remove the heavens from the picture we see right away that good things are things that help or at the very least don't hinder each other's lives and that, comparatively, evil things are things that create obstacles for each other. We know when something is good if it is not evil, and conversely we know something is probably bad if we can't find anything good about it. Both things will perpetuate forever or as long as humans are still around to make that distinction. So it is hard to not see it from a dualistic perspective.

So now I think I can knuckle down. Those are, to my knowledge, the questions I had really been shying away from. Just when I thought I had landed on something profound, the only thing holding me back was fear of letting go of a few things I really didn't find worthwhile in the first place. I couldn't really think about God or the afterlife because it's what my life was based around for so long, and I couldn't let go of it. I could be wrong, obviously. Everybody could be wrong. However, even if I were to return to Christianity, I'd feel good about admitting to myself that, for a while, I didn't believe in God.

I'm feeling better already.

Sorry about the J Lennon quote in the title, I couldn't resist. I used to dislike that song.

It's starting to grow on me.

From Christianity to Mysticism

I've been having a serious inner debate on whether or not to talk about a few things up here. Mainly because they are very personal, and partially because I'm not really done thinking about them yet. I haven't really put my thoughts together on this one (but what else is new?). This is actually a very sensitive subject, not just for myself but for some of my friends and family (some of whom actually read this thing).

This Easter season has made be start to think about a few things. Such as the fact that it occurs to me that I never have explained to anybody, myself included, the reasons behind what makes me so uncomfortable with Christianity, Catholicism in particular. So let me start out with talking about that for a bit, then segue into something completely different without really finishing any of my thoughts. Cool? Alright, let's begin.

For lack of a better description, I sort of drifted away from it in my mid-teen years without putting a hell of a lot of effort into it. That's not to say that I didn't think about it at all, far from it. Rather I just didn't have that sudden rebellion to it that most people do when they leave. The main reasons were the basic doctrines that I couldn't accept on blind faith. Contrary to popular belief, Catholicism makes complete logical sense after you accept a few things as truth without any proof. Some people call it "faith," others, "gullibility." I think it's probably somewhere in between (and also that neither is necessarily a bad thing), but that's not the point.

The point is I never had that feeling. I was never able to take that leap of faith. These days, I feel like I have a much better grasp on "spiritual" concepts than I have before, but even if I could grasp these basics of the faith it's now the things that are supposed to make sense that bother me.

There are several facets of the religion with which I take issue, but the one I would like to talk about is the belief that we are born flawed. Not just original sin, which can be overcome through Baptism, but the idea that no matter what is done we are doomed to never achieve wholeness in this life. There seems to be a concept that this life is, if not a test, a mere precursor to what we were created for. I find this disturbing. I don't understand the point of this life if we were flawed at square one because of something we didn't do. Do we have to prove our goodness to achieve peace?

Do I think we are perfect? I believe that the whole notion of "perfection" is insane. I don't think it means anything except as a descriptor for something that can't ever exist. If you asked me to point out the perfect person I would point at the nearest person (after slapping you), just like a perfect rock would be a rock that does what a rock does (which is the nearest rock). There is no Great Rock that is the rockiest rock that ever rocked.

Now, I also believe that a rock or tree cannot behave in a fashion that betrays it's nature. This is where people are different. I think it's possible for people to forget how to go about people-ing (to borrow yet another word from Alan Watts). I don't claim to know exactly how somebody persons perfectly but I know, in a similar leap of faith that the Christians make, that I can find out how and that I can find it in this life. I also can't claim to know why or how we got to the point of so many of us forgetting what it means to be a person, but I still can't shake the feeling that many people are pretending, or buying into a hoax, and admitting that is the first step.

Isn't it funny that the word "mystic," when used as an adjective means "mysterious, strange, enigmatic, obscure," and yet as a noun, a mystic is somebody who, regardless of religion, dedicates their lives to making sense out of life, most commonly the nature of the self? From yogis and gurus to the Saints, they search more for an answer to a person's nature than obscure rituals and hokey philosophies. Yet, if you were to call somebody a mystic it strips them of credibility in the eyes of most modern thought. They come to us and tell us that what matters the most to us isn't what really matters. They almost unanimously say that we are buying into the game, and they try to warn us that it's only going to bring anxiety. No superstition, no sacrificial goats, no hemp shirts, no psychedelic drugs (debatable), no homeopathy, nothing. Just a simple message.

To quote the ever immortal Bill Hicks, "They say 'Don't worry. Don't be afraid. Ever. Because... it's just a ride.'"

"and we kill those people."

Things Make Me Feel Cool, But Probably Make Me Look Like an Idiot

When I'm listening to a cool song and I'm going up/down an escalator, I like to pretend I'm in the opening credits for a really cool movie about me.

When I go to the beach and I'm coming back to land from the water, I stay horizontal in the shallow water and pull myself to shore and pretend I'm an alligator.

When somebody is driving a car through the snow at night, if I'm in the passenger's seat I pretend I'm on a space ship and the snowflakes flitting past the windshield are stars flying by at warp speed.

When I'm in the shower sometimes I sit down and close my eyes and pretend I'm in an alley in the rain and I'm the Maxx from that comic. Then the shower curtain sticks to my leg and the illusion is shattered.

When I'm listening to really exciting music I do the crazy dance and pretend I'm Andrew WK. Sometimes when I'm walking downtown.

When I'm running and I have my black coat on, I push my elbows inside the coat so that it billows out a bit and looks like Max Payne.

When I read I like to pull my glasses down to the end of my nose and pretend I'm a wizard.

When I was a kid I used to bite off bits of my toast until it was shaped like a gun. I still do sometimes.

When I think about things, I put them online and pretend I'm a writer.

Here is a picture of a somebody very cool

The Cosmic To-Do List

A little bit of a supplementary for the last entry. I had a comment from my sister and I was going to quickly answer in the comments section, but I feel as though this warrants some more careful consideration. So, Sarah's original quote was as follows:

"Not out of virtue or duty, but because this is another one of those contradictions. If one accepts and reaches out to people and remain unconcerned about having the same be given back to them, they will begin to feel a welling of happiness within them."

Do you suppose that this feeling of well-being springs from nowhere? Could it be possible that virtue and duty are in our nature and therefore give us feelings of well-being? A thing is best itself when it complies with its own nature. I think the virtue part is necessary, as it saves this magnanimity you speak of from being condescending and self righteous and prideful.
I love that prayer of Francis too (being a Franciscan)... Have you read his Canticle of the Sun? The language or ideas may first offend you but I am sure as you contemplate it you will love it!

Sarah:

I absolutely agree with you. Virtue and duty are very real and important things, but in being virtuous for the purpose of being a virtuous person I believe there is a danger of not just, as you say, being self-righteous but also of forgetting our nature. Similarly, doing things merely because they are your duty can lead to grudges and dissatisfaction. Putting names on positive qualities gives them a strict definition, which is good in many ways, but also makes them easier to corrupt and even easier to lose sight of what they really are. It's difficult for me to make sense of all this, because defining the attributes is a tricky and dangerous thing.

Virtue is close to the idea I'm trying to convey, but I feel like this nature is sort of inexplicable and even if I could explain it, then I would end up trying to pursue this explanation instead of the real thing. The closest thing I can say is that there are just Things You Do and Ways You Think that are either a part of your nature and therefore good for you (producing nice things like peace, happiness, satisfaction etc.) or they are contrary to it and will twist you in bad ways. It is my conviction that it is in our nature to be kind.

However, now arises the argument that we are all different emotionally, physically and even spiritually. Why on earth would our natures all be the same?

While it's true that there are no two people exactly the same, we all (typically) have bodies that function in the same. Our hearts pump blood through our bodies, our lungs take in oxygen, our livers cleanse our bodies of toxins. When one of these things stops working, we get sick and die.

I believe we are all different and that being different from each other is (sometimes) what makes this an interesting and beautiful world to live in (RAINBOWSBUNNIESSUNSHINELOVEPEACEHAPPINESS whew, I had to get that out of my system). However, much like the human body and it's organs I think we all have an underlying nature or "spiritual organs" if you will.

So there it is. I think.
I wrestled for a long time over how to end this entry but came up with nothing. Be well.

Premature Pontification

This thing deserves a little preamble. Before I had decided to write a blog and was still wrestling with contradictory ideas and emotions, I decided to start jotting things down without thinking about them. Just getting some thoughts on paper. I then put it up on Facebook to see what people thought. The result was heavily inspired by, nigh ripping off (except poorly and more about being confused and less about being a lesbian, although perhaps I could write an entry about that as well), a chapter in Bear Bergman's book "Butch is a Noun". So there's that disclaimer right there, which means you're not allowed to yell at me if you've read the book, and if you haven't then go buy it and read it.

The response was pretty good (see: nobody shouted, anyways), and so then came the blog (something that, combined with the not-so-hardcore veganism, mild activism, meditation and adherence to ancient eastern philosophies, further solidified me as a dirty hippie and somebody I would have hated not three years ago. Seriously, as I am typing I am surrounded by candles and listening to droning Egyptian meditation music). I will include commentary afterwards, and I may have tweaked a few parts of the note to make it sound better (although it's still a bit awkward to read), without touching the ideas therein. So if you're still with me, I give you my first voluntary stab at writing from the heart, as it were:

Who I am speaks loudly, but thinks quietly.

Who I am is a genius. Except for when I’m not a genius. Which is never. Except when I’m being thick, which is most of the time. Especially when I’m thinking or speaking. Except when I’m thinking or saying clever things.

Who I am never cares what people think about me. Except for when I’m trying to impress them. Which is never, really, unless I like them. But then, if any fruitful friendship is to be had, then they should be equally impressed by me as I of them. So I should be impressive. Except not too much. I want to be myself. Except more impressive. But I still don’t care what people think.

Who I am is in complete control of myself at all times. So much in control, in fact, that I quit a bunch of things because I was out of control.

Laughter is an important part of who I am. I will do anything to make you laugh. Unless it makes me look stupid. I’ll never, ever attempt to look thick. Unless that will make you laugh.

Who I am speaks slowly, but thinks rapidly.

Who I am resents nothing in people. Nothing except resentment, that is. Also, I never gossip, except for when it’s out of concern; then I can say whatever I want.

Who I am is the kind of person that will always stand up for a woman. But only if they need it, and I’m not acting out of a false sense of chivalry. After all, they are strong and can stand up for themselves. Except of course, in the case that a woman wants somebody to stand up for them. Except of course, if, in certain situations I would only be serving to reinforce the stereotype of the damsel in distress. Except for when it is a damsel in distress. But that’s an outdated paradigm and who are you to presume what a woman is thinking anyways you insensitive prick. Except if you are a woman, and have a problem with any of what I just said, in which case I owe you an apology and I’m sorry.

Who I am can’t seem to learn enough. I can’t understand, and yet I interpret. I read about a billion things a day, but only little chunks of information on a plethora of different subjects. I misquote and misread to suit my own means and explanations. Except for when I’m sure of the meaning of something. Which is all the time. OK, I’m really sure of this one. I’m positive that I mean what I say unless it’s something I only sort of believe, so that I can get away with a certain philosophy or lifestyle. Except I’m really sure about my core beliefs, so a little skewing of the smaller details is totally fine, right? Also, I hate it when people don’t realize that not having strong knowledge on things makes their argument crumble.

Most importantly.

The truest, greatest thing about who I am.

I haven’t contradicted myself once.

So there it is. I rather liked it at the time, and still do to a certain extent. However, it would have been useless to me had it not been for a friend's comment. This friend of mine and I, we don't always see eye to eye, but there is a mutual respect for each others thinking. At least I think there is. I suppose I shouldn't speak on his behalf. The point is he's a very intelligent person, and after he had finished telling me I should write more, he said, "Now that you know all this about yourself, what comes next?"

I dismissed it, at first. Saying it was just a silly note and mostly a joke. However, he pressed.

"I agree that this isn't only about you, there are many ways of thinking that apply to all of us, however there are many expressions here that are deeply personal. After writing this and externalizing some of these ideas you probably have gained a deeper awareness of your own self. Do you make a conscious effort to become less contradictory, do you attempt to reconcile your own opposing nature, or do you do nothing and return to status quo?"

Goddammit, man. Then I had to think, and was since branded with a thought that wouldn't leave. A playful skepticism of some of the illusions in life. After all, most of what I wrote is about worrying what people think of you, or what kind of person you want to appear as. Since everybody has completely different preferences and opinions, this becomes an impossible balancing act. So I suppose the first step is to go back to the first point, and have a genuine lack of concern for how you are perceived; but then that depends on how you measure yourself as a person. Do you see your own worth through the acceptance of others?

Or, you could see none of these things as contradictory; that every thought process hinges on the conditions of your situation. Sometimes, it's impossible to see the correct way to behave/think, if there even IS a correct way.

I have since come to the tentative conclusion that, while I value friendship immensely, there are few instances where there is a definitive "correct" way to behave and that the only dependable thing in life is, in a sense, the intangible self. The self that is not concerned with being impressive, nor with finding love or acceptance. I also have found it is better to be accepting then to be accepted. Not out of virtue or duty, but because this is another one of those contradictions. If one accepts and reaches out to people and remain unconcerned about having the same be given back to them, they will begin to feel a welling of happiness within them.

Although I think we may have had something to say to each other with regards to terminology (I'm pretty sure we would have disagreed with what "Divine Master" and "Eternal Life" are), Saint Francis of Assisi said exactly what I am trying to say, only way better and hundreds of years ago:

Divine Master,

grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled, as to console;

to be understood, as to understand;

to be loved, as to love.

For it is in giving that we receive.

It is in pardoning that we are pardoned,

and it is in dying that we are born to Eternal Life.

"Truth?", Directionless Pondering, Veganism and Angerless Fury

During my routine-ish swim today I was beginning to slip into the old, "what's going to happen in the future?" train of thought, yet it was unsettling for me in a completely different way than it usually is. You see, many things have happened recently. I have moved and entered into something of a new phase of things, income is happening but not exactly stable, my spiritual beliefs are on the fritz, there is an election campaign going on in my country that I am perhaps more anxious about than I should be, I have not yet heard back from the schools I applied to, and there are other, more private matters that make my future uncertain. However, it's different this time because it feels less like I'm not acting properly or taking things seriously enough and more like it's all an enormous hoax.

I have lived my life until recently under the notion that there is no such thing as subjective truth. I don't know what caused the change, but I can tell you that I was resistant to it because I considered subjective thinking to be wishful, fantastical thinking. It was simply not being realistic. Now I'm even struggling with the definition of the words, "realistic" and, "reality."

It feels as though every time I think about very basic things my mind strips it down. Every time that happens I end up with more questions and don't get anywhere. Yet at times I see a dog shit on the sidewalk and reach an astonishing conclusion. It's as though I'm trying to shoot at a target that can read my mind and moves out of the way every time I change my shooting angle. Then when I throw down the weapon in exasperation, it misfires and hits the target.

These moments come as a great relief, usually, but I can't tell you how infuriating it is to not be able to just sit and deliberately reach conclusions; to only be able to make a point accidentally. I couldn't even succinctly tell you why, exactly, I decided to become a vegan. It wasn't a thought out decision, or any one particular principle reason. I have vague ideas of how I can't justify it ethically, although I can't say it's unethical to not be vegan, either. While I know there are health benefits (and I feel fantastic), I also know that I have to take B12 supplements and more carefully monitor that I get what I need because I know we are built to eat animal products (although far less than we typically consume). Not to mention that meat is far more delicious than it has any right to be. It just seemed like a reasonable thing to do. It wasn't for bragging rights or to make me feel better about myself. It's kind of embarrassing, actually. I can't even remember what made me come to this conclusion, but I can't say it was an uninformed desicion either. I only know that I can't imagine going back to the old diet.

I can't look at anything the same way. It's like having a traumatizing or scarring image burned into your brain, changing the way you see things. Only it's not hurtful, just a little unnerving. I'm not exactly afraid or frustrated, just kind of off-balance. This new(ish) way of seeing things gives me intermittent intervals of complete fearlessness and seemingly unending compassion. Between those intervals, though, it feels like limbo. Not frightening, not paralyzing, certainly not nothing, just sort of... not.

It makes me want to find any school, bank, church, temple, office, political rally (even ones I support), day care center, box store, apartment complex, mall or gas station and shout at them.

"IT'S NOT TRUE! IT'S NOT FUCKING TRUE!"

A Rookie Who Warns Other Rookies

Meditation over articulation.

Seek to contemplate and further your own understanding, rather than make your own viewpoint understood. It is my belief that when you truly understand something you will not need to argue your point, rather you will be able to explain it definitively and succinctly with no room to question. Beware the desire to understand in order to sound intelligent or sound like you understand better than others. This defeats the purpose of contemplation and meditation, and will lead you to make distinctions that are untrue and unreal. It's possible that just by saying that I have overstepped the bounds of my own understanding. I've never been very good at following my own advice. One step at a time.

Acceptance over achievement.

While one must certainly work towards whatever goals make them happy, too often they become distressed or overloaded trying to achieve them. Somebody who reaches the goals they have set for themselves is commendable indeed, but the importance of patient acceptance of your situation at all times is paramount. If you do not accept this as truth, your happiness will be fragile at best while trying to reach your goal, and indeed possibly well after the fact. What happens if you reach your finish line and it is not at all what you expected? Will you try to bend it into something you did expect? Enforcing your will on your surroundings will not work and it will merely bring frustration rather than results.

Always be entering, never exiting.

This is kind of silly, but I've always had this rolling around in my head and wanted to get it down. When you go through a door, you are not exiting the room, rather you are entering the hallway, or the bathroom, or your bedroom. When you walk outside your house, you aren't leaving your house but entering the outdoors. Furthermore, when you go from one room to another, you are still in your house. Whether you are in your house or not, you are still on the same ground. So yes, as insipid as it sounds; never leave, always arrive.

Be sure that you keep your humor.

I mean good humor. Contrary to what many comedians (some of them my among my favorites) will tell you, I believe there are things that are not funny. Not to me, not to you, not your friend with slightly bad taste. While many things are a matter of perspective, I believe things cease to be funny when they harm another person. Whether you are laughing at somebody's pain or a joke you told serves to perpetuate a harmful misapprehension or spread unkindness to a person or group of people. Gossip is poison.

However, not to finger-wag the whole point away. I don't mean that a well-timed verbal jab or playfully making fun of something/somebody is always evil. Laughter is part of how to overcome adversity. For example, when I came out, my family was understandably nervous and didn't know how to approach the subject. They attempted to be respectful but the air around the place was usually uncomfortable. Then one day my sister made a joke about it; a small, innocent, queer joke and at that moment the awkwardness was completely shattered. All I wanted from my family was not for them to be completely ok about everything, but ok enough to have a laugh about it. The point is that the intent wasn't malicious, and led to happiness and understanding.

It's possible that I hold humor above all else as the most important aspect of my life.
The fact that I'm so serious about it is funny in itself.

The Worst, Funniest Day of My Life

Diverting from my usual herpderps, I'm going to tell a little story about the worst moving experience I have ever had in my many years of moving from house to house, city to city. I have had some bad moving experiences, but this one takes the cake. Fortunately, it was SO bad, so unbelievably and unlucky, that it managed to push past the point of awfulness into the realm of hysterics and hilarity. I just didn't realize it at the time. My friend, brother, and fellow blogger has already posted his perspective of the ordeal (I moved in with him and his girlfriend) over at Duke's Buzz (check the sidebar, I haven't read it yet so as to make sure I'm not ripping him off), so allow me to share mine.

And so we begin.

A compadre of mine, Ean, had come up the night before to help me move stuff from my room in the basement to the main floor of my apartment so that we could load it into the truck right off the get go in the morning. Everything was ready to go, we were fired up, plans had been made and things were going to go just swimmingly. We watched Date Night and Being John Malkovich, had a few philosophical discussions and called it a night, not even slightly expecting the shitstorm that awaited us.

The plan was that a friend of Duke's was to go meet them at their apartment at 8AM, go pick up the truck, get to my place no later than 9AM, load up, get back to Duke's, load up there, unload at the new place, and finally laugh, eat pizza and drink beer.

This is not what happened.

8AM and still no word from our truck driver. This is because Rogers had decided to cut the phone earlier than agreed upon, so the driver couldn't call up to the apartment to get buzzed in. It seems the day has already begun in a tizzy. So Duke's gf heads downstairs to see if she can get access to the internet or something to try and contact him (I'm not sure of exact circumstances, as I was not with them yet), and there he was, trying to figure out what to do. Well the answer is now to go get the truck. Quickly. Another of their friends goes off to my place to help get ready, and the rest go to get the truck.

This turns out to be problematic since the good people at the rental place have decided that they didn't feel like having the truck ready at the agreed time. By the way, we aren't late by our own standards. We have the service elevator reserved from 10 until noon, so we really needed to mosey.

Meanwhile, my friend, former flatmate, the dude from Duke's, and myself decide to pack the more delicate things (computer, guitar, etc.) into his car so as to not be rocked around in a potentially jostling moving truck. After that, we wait. They finally show up at about 9 30AM and we are ready to load up as fast as humanly possible. Except that the construction on my street now has the curb blocked off almost completely, so they have to go around the corner, and we have to haul all my stuff, including a sofa, massive CRT television, and computer desk so dilapidated it's only held together by hope, half way down the block and around the corner. Bummer. However, it gets done, I say goodbye to my old roomies, and we're on our not-so-merry way.

At that point, it was a little after 10AM. Our elevator time has started, and we have to drive through downtown Toronto to get to the next destination. Once we get there, we realize we have barely over an hour left to move an entire two bedroom apartment. Tensions are mounting and we begin to feel a little pain in our arms and legs but we are strong, moving as quickly as possible (sometimes I moved a little less quickly than the others, as I am young and able-bodied but also an asthmatic ex-smoker) to get all our shit downstairs before our time runs out. Unfortunately, we fail in that endeavor, but the people who were supposed to use the elevator after us were very kind and understanding, and let us continue without raising much of a fuss. At one point, I believe we were moving their stuff up then filling the elevator with our stuff on the way down.

The truck is finally loaded by 1 45PM. Our reserved elevator time at the new place is from 1 - 2 30PM. We are realizing just how boned we seemed to be, but not even close to realizing how boned we were about to become.

Since we had packed my stuff into the car, we couldn't quite get all of the rest of the delicate stuff into it, so Duke, Ean and myself grabbed a few bags of stuff that probably wasn't very heavy but definitely seemed like it at the time, and walked over to the new place. We are all very near death at this point. Duke has barely eaten and is feeling faint, and we are all broken husks of human beings.

Once arriving at the shiny new place, it became apparent that there was no back entrance to park a gigantic moving truck and unload. Rather, they preferred that we parked it right in front of the main doors and unloaded there. The problem being that the driveway for said entrance is a tiny, one-car width, half circle.

After hitting a guardpost, we figure out just how we're going to get this truck in. That's when we took out the side of an SUV (miraculously, the truck suffered no damage, but the same could not be said for the SUV it had just clobbered). After I was finished having a little panic attack and Duke had eaten something, we decided to proceed as planned while keeping a lookout for the driver of the vehicle we had damaged in order to explain the situation. Honesty and all that. Of course, it didn't go over well, but it went over even less well than expected. I could tell straight away when I saw the driver. A lovely young lady, clad in expensive looking clothes with a chin that didn't seem to move down past a 90 degree angle from her neck.

After a while of information exchanges and attempted diffusion, the lady seemed less interested with getting compensation for the damages, and more from whom it came from. At least, that's the gist of what I got out of it; I was involved very little in the argument. In any case, rather than accept compensation from whom I guess she thought was the inappropriate person, she decided that the best, most rational solution to the issue was to call the police.

The cop that showed up was very reasonable, but since he had to lay a charge, he issued a comparatively small charge on the driver and we were all free to get things moving again.
Miraculously, we had everything in the new place just before the sun had gone down. We all took off our shoes, ordered pizza, cracked a few beers and let out a great sigh of relief.

Then the fire alarm went off.

Beginning to realize how unlikely horrible our luck had been so far, things began to seem less shitty and more funny to me. It was just silly at this point. Hilarious. We all congregated outside, said hello to our new neighbours, and waited for the fire trucks. Once the firefighters had shown up, we saw them being led down by two people who seemed to know the cause of the alarm. I thought I recognized one of them and took a good look (it was dark now).

It was SUV lady. She likely a neighbour of ours.

At this point I begin to laugh, as we hear more sirens, likely the police showing up just to make sure they aren't needed. One lone cruiser pulls up to the building, and who should it be but the same cop that settled our earlier dispute.

We were stuck in an episode of a sadistic sit-com. I erupted in laughter stomping my feet on the ground like a giddy child, many of us did.

Life certainly is stranger than fiction.