:: Indulging the Id ::

id. noun: the part of the mind, residing in the unconscious, that is the source of instinctive impulses that seek satisfaction in accordance with the pleasure principle.

I don't like change. I don't know why exactly, but I don't. Never have. Part of it comes from my being a very organized person – I like to know where something is, when something is happening, what is about to happen. Essentially, I like – I need – my world to be in order. I'm borderline obsessive-compulsive, in this regard. It's not my finest quality, and it's annoying to be point of being quasi-debilitating, but I've learned to deal with it.

The other part of this fear, I figure, stems from my rationality. I am not an irrational, spur-of-the-moment person. Sometimes I wish I was, but I'm just not wired that way. It's been like that all my life, really. I went to school and did my homework because that's what you are supposed to do. And then when I was done that, I went directly to university – did no pass Go, did not collect $200, did not go to Europe, or join a garage band, or a travelling band of gypsies.

And four years later, I did the expected again – I got a job. Surprise, surprise.

The point is, I have almost always done the safe thing – or if not the "safe/smart" thing, then at the very least, the thing that will cause the least amount of upheaval in my life.

But this year is shaping up to be, well, pretty much the opposite because, as of this week, my house is for sale.

Why did I decide to do it? Well, there are plenty of rational reasons – I don't really like my high strata payments nor the strata council itself; Christene lives with me now so more space makes sense; I can make a tidy profit; my place is older and needs a new roof, etc etc etc.

I could go on – and in my head I usually do, considering I tend to need self-reassurance 50 times a day, to convince myself I'm doing the right thing. But here's thing – I might find problems with the strata no matter where I live; Christene insists she has no problem staying where we are; roofs get fixed eventually, and profit or not, a lot of that money gets sucked up in the process of buying a new place.

So... why am I moving? Well, that's what's odd:

I'm moving because I feel like it.

At its core, that's really all it is, I think. I just want something newer, bigger, better. And even though the rational-thinking part of my brain is telling me "That's not a good reason," the other half says that there is nothing wrong with wanting that, whether it's selfish or not.

I mean, sure there is something to be said for being content, and not adopting a grass-is-always-greener philosophy, but if you can make it work, and want it, why not? It's that same reasoning that led me to buy my truck last April. Sure, I didn't need a truck. My car was perfectly fine. But I wanted one, so I bought it – my id run amok after nearly 30 decades of being caged.

And though I've waffled back and forth (much to the chagrin of Christene.. just ask her), it was only this week that I've accepted that this reasoning is perfectly acceptable, perfectly sane.

So yep, time to sell the house.

Now enter that fear of change again – the moving stage.

This entire year – or at least until August – is going to fly in the face of how I like to run my life. You see, the plan is to sell my place first, get the money in hand, and then go about finding another place – about the most irrational thing we could do this side of selling the house outright for $6 and an old boot (Believe me, there were offers).

Partly, this is because many new housing developments require huge deposits/down payments, which of course, are hard to come by unless you've sold the first place first. It'll be OK – we won't be homeless or anything. We're just going to move into Christene's parents' basement, which is where Christene lived before.

And though I know it will be fine, it's completely out of character for me. There I'll be, in a new town (Cloverdale), living out of a suitcase and a couple drawers, all my stuff in storage and scattered around, trying not to go completely batshit crazy until we move again. And the going crazy part isn't a slight against anybody – Christene's parents are awesome – but more an indictment of how neurotic I truly am. I fully expect to get the shakes at some point.

On the plus side, perhaps this will be an opportunity for me to grow as a person – to overcome my crazy fears and realize that the world won't actually come crashing down around me if I haven't done laundry in 2 weeks, can't find any of my stuff, and find myself watching TV on an old couch in the basement, next to Little Mo the family cat.

Or it'll kill me. Guess we'll see.

:: The more things change... ::

"You have to make your own entertainment. I'm like an amusement McGuyver." - Christene

"You and Christene are so much alike, it's like I cloned her and now I get twice the fun." - Kristyl

Watching football...
Jenna: Hey, why does that referee have a big "U" on the back of his jersey?
Nick: He's the umpire.
Jenna: Ha, that's funny.
Nick: If you like that, wait 'til you see the Back Judge.
(short pause)
Jenna: Ooh, I get it.
Chris: I love back judges.

"I know what it tastes like if it comes from a box." - Kristyl, discussing the merits of store-bought cake versus homemade.

Skytrain drunk: I'm kinda drunk. I could definitely drink for another 3 to 6 hours.
Friend: 3 to 6? That's quite a wide range... why not 7?
Skytrain drunk: Don't be ridiculous.

"I hate that bitch. It should be illegal to suck that much dick." - Skytrain drunk, loudly on his cell phone.

At the end of every year, it's common - expected almost - for people to think up a bunch of things they want to change about their lives, and then go out and do it. Last year, as you may remember, I had a pretty excellent year, and wasn't looking to change that much. And while a couple things have changed already, I'm not complaining.

And last night, after I'd polished off a couple caesars (double caesars, actually) plus at least a half bottle of wine, I realized that the 2008 version of my life and the current '09 version could be summed up quite accurately simply by looking at my Saturday nights, past and present.

A pre-2009 Saturday night usually involved some late afternoon beers with whoever was around (or just by myself, if people were busy), which would then be followed by a trip to a pub to watch some type of sporting event on TV, drink a bunch more and eat some nachos.

At that point, the drinking would either continue at the pub, or we'd hit up a liquor store and end up at Ian's house or my parents house, or Jer's, where we'd polish off however many beers we had just purchased while playing Wii or PS3. Then suddenly, once Ian began talking nonsense or Chris became his drunken ornery self, we'd realize it was 4 in the morning, and find ourselves a way to get home.

Then, once I'd get home, I'd usually stumble up the stairs, throwing my jacket and shoes wherever I felt like, make myself a grilled cheese sandwich, watch some sports highlights for awhile, then go to bed.

Then I'd wake up at 11, chug some water, take some Tylenol, and go back to bed until at least noon, at which point I'd peel myself out of bed, ready to face what was left of the day.

But yesterday, Saturday, was different. Although I was no more productive than usual, I did go to work for a few hours, then came home by mid-afternoon, at which point I didn't pre-drink by myself, but instead took a delightful nap.

Then I woke up, had a shower and generally made myself presentable, waited for Christene to arrive, then went to Kristyl and Jason's stone-cooking soiree, which originally was meant to be for 6 people, but once the list was pared down to A-listers only, turned into just the four of us, which was much better.

And unlike previous Saturdays, I wasn't already half-cut upon arrival, and instead of the sounds of sports and yelling in the background (which are just fine, by the way) there was overly fancy jazzy "dinner music" playing in the background because I think Kristyl was trying to impress us.

Then we cooked our own food, drank wine instead of Jagerbombs, and then hung out for awhile. Then, around midnight, we grabbed a cab and went home, at which point we did not make any grilled cheese sandwiches, nor watch sports.

And we woke up at 9 instead of noon.

Now, keep in mind that I don't prefer one Saturday over the other - both versions involved getting pretty drunk, and both were a definite good time. They just seemed like polar opposites of each other.

One on hand, I really like grilled cheese sandwiches. But on the other, I'm not sad, drunk and alone at 4 a.m. on a Sunday morning.

Actually, now that I think of it, maybe things aren't that different. Even though I woke up early today, I still required Tylenol, and I did in fact go back to bed until 12:30.

And I think I'm gonna make a grilled cheese sandwich for lunch.