Home Again, Home Again, Jiggity Jig

I expected to find converting from an out-of-province license to an Ontario driver's license an absolute joy. I'm from here. My birth certificate says so. Sort of.

"Who is this?"

"That's me. I'm me. It's me."

"The name doesn't match your, " squints skeptically, "Al-ber-ta...driver's license."

"Well, no, it wouldn't. I'm married now."

"I see. Well, I'm going to need to see your marriage certificate."

I see you, madam. I've met you in every province, although I'll admit this is a new angle.

"Okay. I'll have to go and get it, I know I have it at home."

"No, you'll need your marriage certificate. You'll have to apply for it."

"No, I'll need to get it. It's at home."

"No, I'm not talking about the scroll your minister gave you that you keep in a frame on the wall. I mean the actual legal document. You'll need to apply for that before you can drive in Ontario."

Oh, sweetie.

"Yes. I understand you are not talking about the marriage license my justice of the peace had us sign. I have the legal certificate at home in a file. With my passport, actually."

"Oh, you have your passport? That's what you should have brought."

"Can I bring that instead?"

"No, ma'am. I can't officially un-see the birth certificate, I'm afraid. So if you'll just apply for the marriage license with the province in which you were married and bring it back..."

The charming philosophical implications aside of a civil employee declaring they cannot officially un-see something, that little nugget of Vogonity seems particularly unhelpful.

"I applied for it in Ontario, in 2006, when I changed my driver's license and passport to reflect my married name."

We share a long stare, calculating stare.

"Oh."

Fingers tapping the keyboard.

"Hmmm."

Further, extended tapping.

"I see. Well. Welcome back to Ontario."
"Thanks. Honestly, it feels like I never left."

       

My Valves May Need Replacing

I am worried, sometimes, that I might be going slightly mad. Friends assure me, when I ask them to check in, that I'm wearing my underpants on the right side of my clothes and I'm not dribbling any more than usual. 

And yet...

Is it possible to go slightly bonkers in such a way that bills still get paid and meals still eaten? I do all of the things I normally do but suddenly there is a sort of mental "go/no-go" switch in my mind. It checks the events of the day against a little meter that gauges just how close to the abyss I've stepped that day and thus far has ensured that no, this isn't the day I go absolutely doolally in the Wal-Mart. 

It certainly lends an edge to buying milk, though.

Someone suggested that I am likely just stressed. "Oh that's just stress," they said, when I explained the restless tension my little check valve cha-cha towards madness was giving me. "You should do some yoga, and go for a walk or read or something."

I already do all of those things. Am I suddenly reading or walking incorrectly?

I consulted my family physician and Dr. Google suggested that the migraines and constant sensation of fleeing from a giant rabid polar bear through endless dark caves with no hope of escape were nothing more than mild depression. Possibly brought on by the move and the new house and job, he also suggested yoga and physical activity. It was either depression or cancer, but I feel like he was just covering all his bases with that one.

The "or something" my friend suggested has some possibilities. I would like to get a stand-up paddle board this year, because nothing is funnier than a grown woman with an inner-ear imbalance attempting to hold Warrior 1 Pose, while bobbing on a foam board in the middle of the Saint Lawrence Seaway.  I also want to learn how to ride a motorcycle. Again, my inner-ear will no doubt ensure this is HILARIOUS.

Until then I guess I can try walking differently, maybe backwards, and hope that my little valve holds up until I can afford the new Ducati.

Superbike 959 Panigale (US Version) @ $40,000
I shall name her Beverley