My visit to the doctor yesterday was unpleasant to say the least. It seems that this woman, who is only filling in for the regular doctor (presently out on maternity), believes she knows my head better than me. To make a long story short, she patronised me something fierce and poopooed my migraines telling me that I should take less painkiller - hello, they're MIGRAINES. The worst is, she could clearly see me getting annoyed with her and she actually started to smirk. I was so angry when I left her office that I was shaking.

I did get one dig in on her, which she seemed to understand, when she asked me about the jobs I work. I explained my retail job and how it wasn't exactly taxing or stressful, and then I said how much I didn't like the ROM. She asked me why not and I said, grinning slightly, "They treat me like I'm a child and patronise me something fierce. I cannot stand being patronised, especially when I've been working there longer than my boss." She got it, and she cooled her attitude. Bitch.

I've been recovering from the tenth migraine in 35 days. Tomorrow, I am going back to my doctor (I was just there on Monday) so that she can refer me to a neurologist. Mom is pushing for a brain scan, and frankly, as it just gets worse and worse, I am too.

In other news, I've been painting a ringwraith miniature for the Games Workshop LotR game competition. I won't win. I never win. I am far too subtle a painter. Oh well, it's a bloody (especially around the horse's hooves) nice piece of work and I'll get it back when the competition is over. I even painted a portion of the 'One ring' verse to encircle the base. I figured I'd use the portion that concerned the ringwraiths directly: "... nine for the mortal men doomed to die..." Cheery, hey? I inscribed it in Tolkien's runic alphabet, even. I had intended to do it in Quenya, but I just didn't have the patience of all the curviness.

Also, I went to see 'The Royal Tenenbaums' last night (the last ten minutes being mostly overpowered by a more-severe-than-average migraine) and I must say that it was lovely. It wasn't nearly as laugh-out-loud funny as I thought it would be, but it was intelligent and sweet in ways I never dreamt it would be. Overall, a success. Also, one of the very few roles in which I liked Gwyneth Paltrow. It was serious and emotional and heartwarming and entertaining. I don't think most of the viewers here in Peterborough get the urban (Jewish?) neurosis quite the same way Mom and I understand it, you know, that first-hand experience thing, so a lot of them left feeling weird. One couple brought their child and left within the first twenty minutes because the movie clearly wasn't what they thought it was going to be. Meh. I was charmed. And also hurting in the head, so perhaps a second viewing will show me things the pain blocked out. Yes. Good idea.

Anyway, I'm going to bed. My head is still very tender and this monitor with its bizarre wobble doesn't help at all. It may even be partially to blame. Anyway, more to say another time, but while I'm gone, check out this link.

The connexion my mother has at her house, the one I set up for her, is, without a doubt, the most pathetic connexion I've used since my 14.4k modem. I mean, come on, Sympatico is supposed to not suck, and it certainly doesn't suck in Toronto, but out here, it just can't seem to handle anything. It isn't the computer, it is the provider, I'm almost certain, since it only happens during peak periods of the day. It SHOULD NOT HAPPEN AT ALL WITH A MAJOR, REPUTABLE PROVIDER.

Okay, rant over.

Nick sent me an email about a place he's heard of above the wacky Stephanian Drugs store on College St. Apparently it's two bedrooms, a kitchen and a bath. I bet it's over priced. Woo, listen to me, Ms. Negativity. However, I shall tell him, IF I can get the connexion to remain stable long enough to hit the reply button, to have a look and poke around in it. I won't have a chance to see it until after 8pm Thursday night, at the earliest, or Friday after work, so I trust him to see if things function. Also, finding out how much it costs would be a good idea.

I saw a film last night called "Kandahar". It is a fictional journey through a very real, documentary view of Afganistan. It takes place in the days leading up to the final eclipse of the twentieth century as one Afgani woman (from Canada) tries to find the sister that was left behind when the family fled. It was not an uplifting film, nor was it pessimistic. It showed bravery in the shadow of adversity, courage to carry on, the risks people will take in order to survive, and the desperation of many. I did not weep at the end, though it was not happy, and while I did laugh at various points, the humour was dark and honest. A fantasic journey through a forbidden world as seen through the eyes of a woman who will not give up.

I just this minute did a quiz about Nick, which I found in his weblog. Fancy. Even better is that I scored a reasonably high score. I will fully admit to having done the test twice, but I didn't change my answers much the second time through. In fact, I think it was mostly thanks to two questions with answers that were toss-ups. Anyway, I scored 80. Yay !

I've been so naughty, what with my not writing anything. Boo on me.

I shall attempt to rectify this situation now with some much needed updates beginning with the long awaited Tales from Moving Day.

Wednesday: I picked up Ryan around 10:30, which was only marginally later than I would have liked, but since I was pre-coffee, it was expected. He apparently answered his phone moments before my arrival thinking the caller to be me, but instead it was his honey-diva. I bet she was unpleasantly surprised to be called Booboo. Then he had to explain that he thought she was me and of course that led to the inevitable question of why do you call Maya Booboo. *shrug* No harm done, though, so whatever.

We got lost on the way to finding the U-Haul rental. Naturally. A quick trip to Tim Hortons and my handy cellphone and we were back en route. Renting was certainly nothing like the hassel I had at the airport when I tried to rent a friggin' car, but that's another story. I was more than happy to let Ryan do the truck driving since he grew up on a farm and had driven more trucks than I ever have (and since I've NEVER driven a truck, it was hardly worth debating). The truck moved at a snail's pace, which is to say, bloody slow. We began to call her such horrible (yet somehow affectionate) names like, Sucking Whore, and Guzzling Bitch. I can hear MS. Magazine screaming at me right now.

Packing took quite a bit longer than it should have, but I suppose I'd gotten a lot less done than I'd imagined. It was a righteous mess, too. Over the course of three hours, Ryan and I moved all the big stuff out of my appartment and into the truck. Let me take this moment to comment on the amazingness of this feat just due to the narrow width of the stairwell. Holy ! Ryan and I should be given medals of courage (or great stupidity) for our amazing achievement. We called Carrie and she came over too, for which we shall be eternally greatful. You see, though her stature is small, her help literally kept Ryan and me from experiencing the falling-off of our arms.

Putting stuff into storage was more pricy than I think it should have been, but by that point there was no other option. Insurrance is important, and though it seemed like I was only storing maybe a thousand bucks worth of stuff, it was a good deal more. My art books alone, those which were stashed in storage, probably value at something close to 1500$. I own a lot of fantastic books and most of them did NOT come to Al and Carrie's. Did I mention getting lost on the way to the storage place? No? Well, we got lost. I had Ryan turn right, not left, and we ended up most of the way to Etobicoke before I said, "I think it's the other way, let me call and find out." By the time we got to Al and Carrie's appartment, Ryan and I thought we were going to die. Much juggling of things in the elevator ensued, with somone always guarding the stuff and/or holding the elevator doors open. Al was home by that time and he dragged my stuff into the appartment while Ryan, Carrie and I did adventuresome things in the lobby.

Dinner was not remotely healthy. I gave Al fifty bucks and said, "Order." He asked, "Pizza?" I replied that we'd all had pizza for lunch so we settled on KFC. I know, I know. GROSS. Utter grossness. That said, for once in my life, the idea of grease-slicked chicken-parts sounded like the most delicious thing a person could eat. Ryan and I dropped off the truck (more getting lost while looking for a gas station that sold diesel) and arrived back at the appartment just as Al returned with the KFC ungoodness. Yum. Finally, though exhausted, I was not about to let Ryan make his own way home, no matter how much my body thought he should, so I was a hero and drove him home.

The night was not finished, yet, though, by any means. Nosirree. I came back to the appartment and had to set up my room, or at least make it livable. I did it very quietly so as not to wake up my new flatmates, and Pepper, their cat, was most helpful. The plan had been to wrap myself up in a blanket and just lied down on my bed for passing out. I ended up making it and having something closer to a proper sleep.

I woke up the following morning, to a blizzard. Yay. Which meant that when I finally made it to the store, I had to shovel. To add insult to injuries (like my muscle aches having aches), I dragged Rick back to my appartment in order to shlep out the last bit of crap from my place on Manning. Again, there was more crap than I'd anticipated, but he was helpful. I decided to leave that stuff in the car in the parking garage when we reached the appartment building, though. At that point, my body had threatened to file for divorce from my soul and I wasn't up for a further battle.

More stories to come as the gumption arrises.