OK, Tom, you say, what the blazes is up with the sob-fest? You're like, what, the 100 millionth student on earth to have to move out of his (or her) utopia of bachelorhood (or bachelorettehood)? Go on, pull your heart strings by cooking one last box of KD, or go stare in amazement one more time at that gargantuan weed that's managed to grow up to 5 feet tall in your "backyard". Then, move on man - move on to a different life that will bring it's own pleasures, even if they are somewhat more civilized than the spontaneous mischief that characterizes universitydom.
If these are the thoughts that are going through your head right now, you are fully justified in having them. It seems kind of silly to me that I'm reminiscing so much about my time here - it was, after all, only 3 years, which isn't a huge portion of 22. Hardly enough, one might think, to justify an overly verbose, nauseatingly poetic blog posting. As I think about it a bit more, though, 403 Scottsdale really does represent a significant milestone in my life. There were definitely a lot of "firsts" for me here, whether it's cleaning a toilet (reserve judgement: I was the vacuum man in my childhood!) or learning after-the-fact that putting a can of already-opened spaghetti sauce in the fridge guarantees certain regression to a vegetable state, and eventually death (as a flaming hypochondriac, I'd like to thank Shane and Alex for that heads-up once again). When it's considered that this is the place where my procrastination skills were honed to perfection, where I learned to play poker, and where I got slightly addicted to prime-time TV, it becomes obvious that 403 has been absolutely central to my development into a responsible, mature young man. Indeed, a stage of life that everyone should get to experience!
As much as I'd love to continue blibber-blabbing, I should probably get back to work. I'll probably be at it for the rest of the day - it takes a long time to figure out how to dispose of 50 thumb tacks without turning your hands into swiss cheese, or decide what to do about a pile of worthless Latin American currency sitting on your dining room table (even if there's 10 thousand Costa Rican Colones to the dollar, this cheap ass can't bring himself to throw them in the trash!). Next time I blog, it'll be from my aunt's basement - don't laugh, she makes a better bloody apple crisp than you could hope of pulling out of your bachelor oven - in downtown Guelph. A whole new life in a whole new part of town, as it were.
Cheers,
Tom
