[Do Canadians say “tuckered out”? Or even “tucker”? Perhaps I should translate – nosh for when you’re pooped. Doesn’t quite have the same ring to it.]
I’m weary. Weary right through to my bones. I haven’t done anything interesting or athletic, like, say, run a half marathon. My only excuse, and I reckon it’s a good one, is that I have spent most of last week moving house.
Ahhh, moving. My favourite frenemy. Best Frenemy Forever. I’ve had my fair share of moving, Canada being country number five I’ve called home (and what a lovely country it is). I’m not resistant to change. And yet when our landlord sold our apartment and we were advised the new owners would be wanting to move in (meaning we would be required to move out)….well, I was resigned to it, don’t get me wrong, but I didn’t exactly embrace it. As it turns out it is easier to accept change you bring upon yourself as opposed to that which is thrust upon you. Huh. Funny that.
But now it is behind us. We have moved. Sweet relief. And? Me tired. Me want cookies (my language skills dissolve when faced with weariness that sinks through to the very bones). So imagine my delight when I discovered Meinhardt (local fancy-shmancy grocery store) sells its signature cookie dough in refrigerated packs for easy baking. Yes! That’ll do nicely.
I’d tell you all about how lovely and chewy they were and how the chocolate inside was still melted when we ate them in the VanDusen garden with friends and how our babies frowned at us for not sharing and the sun poked fingers through the trees as it went from afternoon to early evening, but….well….I’m knackered. I’m going straight to bed. From the new digs : Nighty night. X.