If all had gone according to plan, I would have been back to Champaign in late July and would right now be rocking out with a perfect new hip doing something rugged and outdoorsy. (Okay, this is a lie. It's cold as fuck in Champaign, so I'd probably be laying on someone's couch wearing mittens indoors and drinking whiskey to 'warm myself.') Well, obviously things didn't go according to plan and I've spent hundreds of pages on this blog detailing the trainwreck that was my hip replacement. On Monday, however, I will finally declare mission accomplished (well, not mission accomplished with the hip, but still) and get my ass back to Champaign-Urbana. Better practice your evacuation plan because Hurricane Arley is officially in the forecast.
Yes, I am 7 months behind schedule, and yes I only have a few months before America will break up with me, (unless, you know, there are any intelligent, hot-in-an-unconventional-way American men out there dying to pop the question to a girl who can write a great simile and bake a mean whipped-cream pound cake), but I have played sports long enough to know that quitters never win and winners never quit, that success delayed is not success denied, and that you miss 100% of the shots you don't take (or, in this case, the 100% of the parties you weren't around for because you were too busy watching "The First 48 Hours" in your bedroom in Vancouver). Yes, for the record, that was an 124-word sentence. It's not just my fainting that makes me Victorian-esque.
I only have about 3 months in Champaign, but I plan to make them a good three months. That's not to say, however, that I'm not ambivalent about the situation; (ambivalence is another one of my talents, along with the similes and the pound cake). I've been in Vancouver full-time (not counting a few expeditions to Champaign) since June 13th. I've settled into a groove living with my parents (not the best on the old ego, I like hanging with my parents and man a homecooked meal and clean laundry is nice), hanging out with the few friends I have here, and enjoying the fact that it was 52 degrees in Vancouver today and will stay in this range all week. (On a completely unrelated note: you know all those Pat Robertson type guys who were all "God hates Haiti and sent it an earthquake?" Why has no one said "God hates the Olympics and He's taking back His snow?" I mean, this has been the warmest winter on record in Vancouver by a long shot and you've got to think that maybe God just isn't a downhill skiing fan).
I digress. The point is that I will miss everyone in Vancouver, and I know it would be better for my job if I stayed in the true North strong and free. And there is a certain logic to the thought that since I'm going to have to live in Vancouver eventually, I should suck it up, put on my big girl rain slicker and acclimatize. The other part of me (the one who missed the Frog Eyes concert because I had no one to go with, the one who tries to find books in a library that won't let you take out Borges' "Book of Imaginary Beings" because it is shelved in the reference section along with the quotable quotes books, the one misses the sunshine and snow of a Midwestern winter and thinks that if she has to drive home in the rain at 5 p.m. in heavy traffic while that "New York" song plays on the radio one more time she will literally lose it), says "fuck it."
The fuck-it part of me argues that this summer, I'm going to have a major surgery and things are going to be pretty crappy. When things were crappy last time around, I kept thinking of the time that A. and I went hiking and how I got dehydrated and later drunk on one beer at The Black Dog. Or that time when Bridie, Shelley, Tiff, and some others got drunk and somehow silly string was involved. Or that Easter dinner I held where my car broke down and I sliced my thumb open and there was a minor grease fire and I bought (and then ate) too much candy. I think I need a few more moments of doing cool shit with people I care about but won't get to see after I get my maple-leaf-waving ass deported.
It's not that Champaign's better than Vancouver, it's just that right now I associate Vancouver with "bad hip replacement and ass-groove worn in my bed" and I associate Champaign with "place of awesomeness and social-butterfly-ness and kick-ass books to read." Neither of these associations are correct, but that isn't going to stop me. I need a break from talking endlessly about my hip replacement and everyone around me needs a break from me being all emo. Everyone wins!