No longer creating on the 8th Floor

Now it’s unpacking time.

No more shredding, and sorting, piling and discarding.

No more rolling cart and waiting for the elevator.

Now, we are walking between boxes and dodging each other

in our efforts to get things put away.

Where will all these things go?

They fit so comfortably in my old space

Behind hidden closets and buried in drawers.

No more screeching of packing tape

and looking for the scissors

Just boxes to discard

and things to donate that will go

to someone perhaps starting from where I have left.

Someone starting new

With a fresh outlook and shiny floors

Clean appliances and dust-free overhead fixtures.

Walls that have been ‘magic-erased” removing all

Evidence of the previous owner (me).

I am happy for this person.

I am ecstatic for me.

My life has been rearranged into a new creation.

Corridor of Free Expression

Someone mentioned to me that she had written on the wall above the photocopier. Nothing too profound, just the code for copies so she didn't have to repeat it many times through the day. The building is coming down you see, as are many others along 17 Ave, making space for the LRT extension.

This got me thinking of all the expressions we could scribble in our spaces, to make it truly our own. Would the gentle draw flowers and write prose and the more angry be prone to armoured tanks? Will we draw smiling faces, write love stories, tape up photos of memories shared?

Perhaps we could start a wave of creativity along the construction route, where for a brief period we could feel the courage to be ourselves. Will our words be more real when we know that they have a terminal date?

As I drive and see the empty lots, see buildings staring back with vacant eyes, see the large orange barrels, I do my best to follow the zig-zag of the freshly painted solid lines. How quickly I have forgotten what stood on that corner, how quickly we have become used to the relocation of a favourite coffee-drinking spot. We search out parking each morning, put on identifying tags; no one wants to end their day with a missing vehicle. Losing our personal space is quite enough for now.

But wherever we go, we take ourselves and the choice is ours - will we pack up our grudges along with our post-it notes and stapler or only bring our ha-ha jokes from our files?