I’m missing Ottawa

Though the girls have been quite happy for the extra pets and cuddles, I’ve not been the best patient. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I’m a terrible sick person. I’m a wimp who dramatically moans when in pain. The piano tied to my ass grows three times the size (at least) and I toss and turn and wake up the cats. Who then yell at me in their own little ways.

I have a headache.

Laying in bed with a headache means I’m in and out of sleep and have taken pain medication, so my dreams are more wild than usual. Today I’ve taken part in a reality show that brought back exchange students from my childhood, questioned the paternity of of the heir to a made-up empire, gone to the gym on Christmas Day to find out it was free and visited my fantasy Byward Market.

I say fantasy because it seemed to have all of my favourite things and no crowds.

Of all of the mixed up places my brain has taken me, the Byward Market was the most vivid. I remember standing beside the Moulin de Provence and feeling a terrible sense of loss. And the fact that I was mouse-sized didn’t help.

It’s been almost a year since I left and because of my unsteady income I’ve not been able to plan a trip back. I don’t miss a lot of things, but I do miss my dear friends and all of the places I loved to go. I miss sandwiches from Bread & Sons, walking by Parliament, poutine trucks on (almost) every corner, beautiful bike rides along the canal and parkway. And shawarma.

Sure. Toronto has substitutes for some of those things. Just like both Toronto and Ottawa have places that remind me of Darlingford. But nothing really compares to the original when you are missing home.

And I can say for a fact that I miss all of my homes–Darlingford, Ottawa, Toronto–when I’m away from them for too long.