at last

My last day in the O-Zone has come and gone. It was made up of a stream of individual goodbyes, which (collectively and indivdually) reconfirmed my feeling that goodbyes are the hardest part of... everything, I guess. Growing, maybe. Changing, definitely.

I was woken by a phone call from Monsieur Olives in the morning, who hadn't been paid for the MSt conference 2 months ago. Just a last blast of disorganization, courtesy of the English Faculty of the University of Oxford. I hummed, hawed, paid him out of pocket and later coasted over to the EFL in the company of Sasha. She returned books, I demanded reimbursement and was informed that a cheque, in Canadian funds, would arrive on my (well, my parents') doorstep... soon?

So I got to say a fond farewell to that tiny deli on High Street and that Frenchman who made lovely sandwiches and who never made fun of my muddled franco-anglo-Canadian accent. And then goodbye to one friend; and then another; goodbye to my bicycle, which was saying hello to said friend. Another goodbye. And then another. Crying into hoodies and sweaters in the Meadow. A Last Supper with my Hertford sweethearts in my awkwardly shared kitchen, goodbye. A walk uptown, past film crews, jogging along Broad Street in the cold rain with Springsteen telling me how everything dies. Goodbye. Powerwalking to Gloucester Green, rolling to Worcester in the mist. Goodbye. Crying on the quiet, cold, wet, Oxford streets. Stuffing the last bits and pieces of me into my ridiculous suitcase. Goodbye again, too tired for tears.

Tomorrow morning, Jamie, bless her, will come to Gloucester Green with me. And then: LHR, YUL, YQM, Hillsborough. Parents, Friends, wood floors, woods, tidal river, ocean, driving, acreage, Canada Day, interview... Goodbye, hello. It all feels too abrupt.