Why I still don’t have Internet access at home four months later

It’s been four months since I moved back to Toronto for work after a four-month stint living at my dad’s after graduating university and breaking up with a boyfriend.

Until four months ago, I’d had Internet access wherever I was living nearly continuously for over 10 years, maybe more. I feel like I’ve had the Internet for my entire life (or at least the half that I actually remember) and it’s been an important tool throughout my life.

If I hadn’t been so involved online over the last 10 years, I highly doubt I would be capable enough to do my current job.

But over the last year, I noticed the Internet becoming an addiction and a crutch.

I love consuming information and I could probably spend every waking hour of my life reading blogs, watching videos, listening to podcasts, checking out photos, etc. I know this is a good thing, but it’s also a dangerous thing if anyone actually does it because then you stop participating in all the other really great things about life.

And as my last year of university came to a close, and simultaneously so did my last relationship, I found comfort in focusing my attention on the computer because it meant I didn’t have to think about all the crappy stuff going on in my life at the time. It was a distraction and it became an instant wall between my ex-boyfriend and I when we lived together.

I didn’t want to talk, fight, clean up after him, open the mail, cook or do anything else that was an extension of our relationship. I wanted to ignore it all, so I did.

When I arrived at my dad’s last April, I didn’t really like anything about my life there either – I had grown distant from my family after four years away from school, my dad’s girlfriend had moved in, there was nothing to do in that town and none of my friends were there anymore – so, once again, I ignored all that in favour of the Internet. I sometimes worked all day and night. I read dozens of blog articles every day. I watched hours of TV online. Sure, I got out now and then, but not enough.

So, I finally realized that I had left one unhealthy situation for another and I needed to get out. Financially, I probably wasn’t ready, but I knew I could get by, so I moved to Toronto Sept. 1.

Four months later, I still don’t have Internet access at my apartment. I’ve found many reasons to justify it – Canadian telecom providers suck, I’m on the Internet at work anyway, I don’t want to be stuck on a computer all night after I’ve been sitting at one all day, etc. – but it’s starting to creep up on me. Sure, I have email and Internet access on my BlackBerry, but it’s not the same.

Sometimes I don’t leave work until 7 or 8 p.m. because there are things I still want to do. I’ve marked as read countless undoubtedly interesting blog articles in my Google Reader because I can’t spend my workdays catching up. I mostly forget about Twitter and Facebook in the evenings and on weekends. Until recently when I finally got a TV again, I’d mostly replaced TV shows and movies with podcasts I download at work and listen to at home.

The truth is, this extreme hasn’t felt right either, so now I’m itching to connect again, but I’m kind of scared at the same time. What if there is only one extreme or the other for me? Only being connected all the time or not being connected?

How do you balance staying involved online with staying involved in the rest of life?

P.S. Any testimonials for an excellent Internet service provider in Toronto that isn’t Bell or Rogers?

Let the ritual begin

I’ve had a really hard time blogging this summer because I’ve been in limbo and I hate being in limbo. It’s tough to be inspired when I’m not moving forward. Hell, it’s tough to be inspired when I don’t leave the house for days on end.

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.

I <3 T.O.

I don’t know to explain it, but whenever I’m in Toronto I feel like I’m home. I don’t even have a place in Toronto anymore, but I can walk around downtown for hours and be completely content. There are some bad memories, but I don’t have to think about them, and there’s something about the hustle-bustle that feeds my soul.

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.

The triumphant university grad moves back home

In about three weeks when my internship at the National Post is complete, I will move back home to live in my dad’s house.

It feels so weird to say move back home for many reasons: I haven’t lived there in years. I’ve barely visited. I no longer have my own room there. Toronto feels much more like home than Cambridge. My lifestyle has been totally different since moving out.

I moved out in the fall of 2005 when I started university and, although I had to move back home the following summer for a few months due to unforseen circumstances, I’ve lived in Toronto ever since.

I always disliked Cambridge and when I moved to Toronto I definitely felt like I was moving up in the world, so I’m still trying to decide if moving back there is a step up or a step down or neither. Maybe it’s just a step.

The major difference between then and now is that my granny moved into my empty room a year or two ago so I no longer have my own space. It’s a pretty small house and the only space for me is in the unfinished basement which has been my family’s dumping ground for unwanted or underused things.

I have my work cut out for me.

But I am truly looking forward to it. I can become close friends with my little brother again. I can help my dad with all the things he’s too busy to do. I can garden, sit outdoors and still have privacy, sleep in silence and pitch black. I will be losing a lot by moving away from Toronto, but I’ll be gaining some too.

And then there’s that other nagging thought: that moving back home as an adult is somehow a failure on my part.

The truth is I’m swallowing my pride to move back home. I’m doing the smart thing. I have a lot of debt from school and my first post-grad job is awesome, but it’s not going to make me rich.

And in my family, I’m not the sort of child a parent has to survive. I will definitely accept any financial help my dad will offer to help pay down my debt, but I’m willing to do a lot of work in return.

At my dad’s house, I’m the boss – and not in a Pay my bills, Dad or Do my laundry, Dad sort of way. I take charge of the chores and the big projects and, if anything, I’m something of a bossy annoyance because I’m trying to get everyone to do more to make their own lives easier.

The future is still a bit foggy, though. How long will I live there? Will I be happy there? Will I end up dying to get out because I hate the town and I’m used to living on my own?

I honestly have no idea. But it’s an opportunity I’m going to take and hope for the best. Wish me luck.