I’m officially a resident of Quesnel. I’m also unofficially (for the moment) a desperate housewife of Quesnel. Unemployed, baking all day, waiting for the man to come home. Might as well start drinking the pinot at 10am and wearing Herve Leger, because that’s where this road is headed.

Colin has been here for three weeks, long enough to get the lay of the land and show me around a little. He’s taken me to all the places I’ll need to go, like the grocery stores and his office and the liquor store (see above pinot comment). That being said, it’s my first day on my own (read: Colin’s at work) and I’m too afraid to venture out of our apartment.

What if I get lost?

It’s raining. Totes can’t go outside when it’s raining.

I have so much to do here. Like unpack.

And avoid unpacking by baking apple coffee cake for Colin’s office. Hey, it’s like job insurance.

Plus, if I stay inside it’s like we didn’t move. It’s like we’re staying at a hotel, kind of. A hotel where no one cleans up after you, and therefore a crappy one, but a hotel nonetheless.

Just follow my logic. It’s easier that way.

I love our apartment. It’s in a really quiet part of town near the river, where lots of trails start out from. It’s one of those rare buildings that smells amazing all the time (not like remnants of grease and dinners of yesteryear).

The town is nice. Bigger than I thought. It even has a Booster Juice, which is good because it will help me relive the like, three months I worked there in high school. Totally like home, right?It has a Safeway (with  STARBUCKS in it. This can’t be understated), a Save-On, a Wal-Mart, hell the place has everything. Arguably, it should be an easier transition than it was when I moved to Tofino.

But moving sucks no matter how great the town is. Not just the physical and emotional separation from the people who raised you and lived with you and somehow still like you (THANKS MOM!), but just the nitty gritty of actually moving yourself and your stuff nearly 7 hours away. It’s painful. Once your stuff is where you’ve moved it to, you have to stare at it for a few days, loathe it, and then finally break down and unpack when Colin starts giving you the side eye, like he’s rethinking why he brought you up here.

That hasn’t happened yet, give it time. I brought like, nine suitcases with me, none of which I’ve unpacked yet.

I realize that sometime soon I’ll have to go outside by myself. If I’m going to live here, work here, make friends here, I’m going to have to pull myself up by my Betsey Johnson’s and get out there. But for now, I’m going to hide inside, reading Nora Roberts novels and ignoring the sad, silent pleas of my overflowing suitcases.


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