Well...... looks like I'll be relocating. I feel so sad. Who ever thought I'd grow to hate this house? I certainly didn't. This was my haven, my cave, my safe place amidst turmoil. This was home. How can I part with it?

But how can I stay? I feel like an inconvenient piece of furniture that's worn out its welcome. Displaced, dismissed. Hurt, if you must know, that with a simple pregnancy announcement I could go from friend to nuisance. I couldn't stay here a day longer. I deserve to be surrounded by supportive friends in a time where I'm losing as much as she is gaining.

I have the right to be sad. A little bit angry.

Lately I've been feeling all these things and so I selected a particularly high and hard drift of snow behind the apartments, and I've been moving it. No particular reason, no particular destination. It feels better to dig. It feels better to hack at the ice, it feels better to lift and throw, lift and throw, feel the strain in my back and know that at the very least, I will sleep tonight.

I could dig holes all day. If only someone would pay me to dig, I would happily dig holes for the rest of my life. It feels so good to dig.

As a kid, when I got stressed out about my family, I used to chop. I walked into the bush with a little hatchet, and chopped down huge trees. Poplar trees I could barely reach around. Once they were down, I chopped them into pieces. Chopping was my saving grace. I think if I didn't chop trees, I might have gotten into fights or spazzed out at my mom. But chopping helped. Chopping felt better.

I can't wait till tomorrow. I can't wait to dig.