I was inspired to track some of my goals here on my blog after seeing Rebecca Thorman do the same over at Modite earlier tonight (check out her post for the “rules”). I think it’s a great idea to establish and track goals in a such a public forum. I’m not a To-Do List person at all, but I like this concept a lot.

To start this on the right foot, here are some goals I had for August – some of which I accomplished and some I didn’t:

• Negotiate for a raise so I can move back to the city and not have to live in a cardboard box
• Go to the gym 3 times a week (I left my gym shoes in my cousin’s car and I haven’t seen her again yet, so…)
• Get a new cell phone and get on a plan instead of doing “pay as you go” (got a BlackBerry!)
• Start looking for an apartment for October 1st (found a cheap apartment in a good neighbourhood for September 1st, but with half price rent for September – score!)
• Go to Montréal to visit family (this is long overdue, but it had to be postponed because I can’t afford rent and such an expensive trip at the same time)

Life and career goals for September:

• Move into the new apartment, get all nest-y and finish painting over Labour Day weekend
• Go to the beach a few times before winter sets it since I live right on it now – I already took my first early-morning beach walk last weekend when I crashed at the empty apartment to begin cleaning and painting
• Get the Internet at home (!!!)
• Throw a house-warming party
• Hire an intern to help me with all the insanity at work
• Actually trust said intern enough to delegate tasks to him/her

Also, I don’t like blogging about how much I hate parts of my life. I did that for years as a teenager, and while I still have plenty of teenage angst inside of me at age 23, I stopped writing in my livejournal for a reason. I used to feel better when I spilled out all my negativity into a space like that, but now it just makes me feel worse. If I don’t write it down, then I can just forget about it.

But now, things are starting to move again. I’m moving again, literally. I got a cute one bedroom in The Beaches and although it requires a lot of TLC, it’s worth it. It’s cheap and it’s small, but it’s just me so it’s a good size. The lake, the beach and the boardwalk are one block away. The neighbourhood is full of families and dogs and ridiculously in shape people who all seem very relaxed because they live by the water. I like it.

I took it even though I promised myself I wouldn’t paint another apartment for a long time, and even though it needed to be cleaned from top to bottom. I’m tired of painting and the walls in particular were unbelievably dirty.

But as I scrubbed the walls of their grime and wiped away the cobwebs, I realized it’s a good experience to go through. It’s like a ritual that allows me to see every centimeter of my new home up close and personal. I’m a nester by nature, so painting everything the colours I love and putting my things just so are very important to me.

And I’ve moved so many times that it takes such a ritual for a space to feel like home. This will be my 13th move and more than half of those were just in the last five years. It took me along time to allow any place feel like home because home always meant my mom was there, and she wasn’t. She wasn’t anywhere. But I’ve come to terms with that now.

So, I move in next weekend. And I will have a life again, with friends and actually going into work every day and living in a city that is a living entity all on its own.

I think this means I can write again. Thank goodness.

In 2004, that month was so turbulent, so difficult, so life-changing, it still affects me now, five years later. Well, it will be five years on Saturday, May 30.

In a lot of ways, I still haven’t really dealt with her death. I’m not even sure what that means, and for all I know I’ve done everything I should have done, but I still cry, I still shake, I still get angry and sad. I still miss her with every fibre of my being and wonder how my life – all our lives – would be different if she was still alive and well today. Although these things lessen or change somehow each year, I’m certain I will experience them in one form another for the rest of my life.

And it’s also at times like these, when I’ve made and will be making big decisions, and when I reach huge landmarks in my life, that I long for her so I can ask her advice, get her opinion. I wouldn’t genuinely ask anyone else if I was doing the right things, but I know I would ask her.

Was leaving my relationship the best thing for me to do? Was leaving the city I love living in to move back home the best thing for me to do?

Are you proud of me? Everyone says you are, but I’d love to hear it straight from you. Am I the person you thought I’d be when I grew up? Would you do my hair and then cry tears of joy at my commencement ceremony next week?

Would you make me feel like the luckiest, most special girl in the whole world like you used to?

What’s it like where you are? Are you anywhere? Can you even hear me…?

If she was alive, she would probably tell me whatever path I think is the best for me to take is the right one, and I might actually believe her when I can’t even believe myself right now.

And although my heart still hurts, and although my emotions and tears sometimes come rushing back like floodwaters at the mere mention of her, I finally agreed to organize something on her Death Day. (I know most people aren’t comfortable with the word Death, but I am and I can’t think of anything else to call it anyway.)

Every year, my aunt has asked me if I wanted to do something on my mom’s Death Day. Every year I said, “No thanks.” Every year, I let the day pass almost like any other for me, and for everyone else. Just more sad. I think was always afraid whatever we did wouldn’t be special enough and it would somehow be my fault.

I also wasn’t ready to step into her shoes as the centre of the family. I’m still not, but no one else has either. My aunt has taken care of a lot of things my mom used to do, both for my brother and me and other members of our family, but she’s only part of our family by marriage, not blood. I don’t love her any less for it, but I don’t think it would be possible for her to unite our family the way my mom did. Nor do I think she wants to.

This week I finally realized that to truly celebrate my mom and everything she meant to all of us, it doesn’t matter what we do, but rather that we all get together and have a good time. Getting together with family and friends, and just enjoying life together, is what meant the most to her in her life. She often spent her last dime just having fun with us, or her friends and extended family. She loved catching up with everyone and she made everyone feel like they were special because she was having the best time with them.

So, we’re going bowling on Saturday. I wanted to go to bingo (I can’t even tell you how much she loved bingo), but my brother isn’t 18 yet, so we’ll have to go next year. She loved bowling too. A bunch of us are going out for dinner and then to the bowling alley, and I’ll make other plans for Monday with the one important person who can’t make it.

I really hope that if she is somewhere, she smiles and says, “Finally!”

I truly am sorry it took this long, Mom. We love you so much and miss your smile, your laugh, your hugs, your heart, your everything every single day.

I love my family, but I wasn’t ready to come back home. I don’t know if it was a mistake, but it doesn’t feel like home to me now. Although I ended a romantic relationship, I didn’t end my relationship with the city. My heart is in Toronto and has been for the last 10 years.

Even being in the TalentEgg office again, almost in my old spot, with all the other young, fun people that make the company so amazing, was invigorating and energized me more than I’ve felt in a long time. It was a little surreal and my mind was elsewhere at times, feeling a little sorry for myself that I’m not part of the team every single day.

So, although my first pay cheque is practically already spent and I haven’t even cashed it yet (dresser from Ikea, spay Sahara, pay line of credit and credit cards, hopefully have a bit of fun and buy some clothes I feel good in…), I know my goal is to move to Toronto as soon as it makes financial sense.

I still need to make a budget, decide how much of my student debt I’d like to pay off and then stick to it for a while, but that’s not too hard when I barely leave my house for about a week at a time, the fridge and cupboards are stocked with food and I don’t pay any room and board.

Fingers crossed. Well, actually, it’s not going to involve any luck, just hard work and discipline.

I suppose I’ve done the same in real life, too. It was a month yesterday I moved out of the apartment in Toronto I shared with my (now ex-) boyfriend and back into my dad’s house in Cambridge. Here, I’ve painted, decorated and unpacked most of my things to make it feel more like home again. Unfortunately, I can’t wait to move back to Toronto.

I’m grateful I have the opportunity to take a breather, to catch up on my finances now that I’m done university, to be with family, etc. But after being independent for so long, moving back to my dad’s house in a town where the only way I can get around is awfully planned, infrequent bus routes feels like a prison some days.

I miss being steps from the subway. I miss having everything I need within walking distance. I miss having common space that was more or less just my own.

Things have changed here, too. My little brother has his own life. My dad’s girlfriend moved in two weeks after I did. Many of my high school friends have moved away or we’ve just lost touch over the past five years.

Time just seems to pass more slowly here and I’m going to have to get used to it. I really hope the money I’m saving on rent, groceries and bills is worth it.