Across the Universe

September 26/2014

The thing about living as a Canadian in London, is that amongst the hundreds of various accents and ethnicities, Canadians are as easy to find as ketchup chips-- which are almost impossible to find, and not nearly as delicious. (Note: This analogy in no way insinuates that Canadians in London are not as delicious as ones back home. In fact, I feel we are quite the opposite. Even more delicious and intriguing, really. A delicacy of sorts.) 

After six months of hearing nothing but Irish, English, and Australian dialects, it came as quite a surprise to board an Air Canada plane bound for my homeland, and be completely surrounded by the sound of my people. What is worse, was the discovery that, alas, all of my European mates were right… We really do sound absolutely ridiculous. 

But allow me to backtrack. 

The night before my impending departure, the Irishman and I decided to have a few farewell cocktails here and there, and everywhere around Clapham. Needless to say, these "few cocktails" gradually increased in number, leading to a crack of dawn stagger home, and one last intimate embrace with the porcelain throne. I awoke to the pre booked taxi-cab waiting impatiently at the Bachelor Paddy doorway. Shit. I'd like to imagine that I raced to gather my things and haul myself into the idling vehicle, but there was no racing. I'm fairly confident I was still drunk. There was no racing. Passed out and draped across Chris, the human cushion, I managed to arrive on time, but hardly in one piece, to Heathrow Airport, with enough time to share an unsuccessful sobering-up-coffee with my man friend before we were forced to say our goodbyes. In hindsight, the fact that I was still not firing on all cylinders may have eased the blow as he hugged me for the last time before I jetted away for six very long weeks. 

Which brings me to my sitting in a large tin can, surrounded by my own obnoxious sounding kind, contemplating ending my life. An eight hour flight, followed by an excruciatingly long lay over, followed by another five hour flight, another lay over, and ending in an additional fifty minute flight sucks ass. All of the above plus one epically aggressive hangover is suicide inducing. And worth questioning if I have even the slightest bit of braincells left in the daft head of mine. I tried to find solace in Russell Crowe, but it's hard when he's chosen to become so old and fat. The fact that I was attempting to watch him in a film where Jesus makes his fat, old ass live on a swaying boat filled with shitty, repulsive smelling animal pairs didn't exactly help my nausea, either. So I slept. Or tried to, anyway. Fucking babies. 

I arrived in Kelowna feeling less than alive, and looking like I belonged in the background of The Walking Dead, chewing on my own limp arm. There, in the arrivals area, stood Julie Ness, the love of my life, basking in all her drop dead (not the same kind of dead as my dead) gorgeousness. The skinny bitch looked flawless; a short, black summer frock draped over her barely there figure, just see through enough to notice the space between her petite thighs, while my gargantuan thighs rubbed so closely together that I could have easily started a small fire, as I ran to her open, twig like arms. If my ever-growing-tighter-fat-pants weren't enough to get my fat ass into shape, the sight of my dearest friend was bound to do the trick. We could have easily held each other for hours, but instead we gathered my bags and headed to the Lachner residence, ie: my home. 

It's a strange thing, really. To be home for the first time in almost six months and feel like you've never even left, while at the same time feeling like it's been an eternity. As happy as I was to be home, I already missed the city's never ending insanity. The nights came too early, and were far too quiet. The bars were tame, the streets were empty; not once did someone bump in to me then look at me as if I'd just elevated up from hell to purposely get in their very busy, very important way. There is a simplicity that comes with the small town of Kelowna that I definitely cherished, however. An ease to every activity, every errand, every day. I appreciated it. I relaxed into it and allowed it to restore the damage my beloved, yet crazy city had bestowed upon me. It didn't take long for my sobriety and daily yoga attendance to take it's effect on Inflata-Chelsea. I could no longer mistake my giant rolls for my ever enlarging breasts, and I could even see my toes without drastically sucking in my paunch. A final victory for the blossoming skinny bitch and what I can only hope to be a permanent farewell to the fat cunt. 

I spent the next six weeks inside dance studio, after dance studio. When I wasn't teaching, I was dreaming about teaching. When I wasn't choreographing, I was still choreographing. In the kitchen, up and down isles of grocery stores, while driving down the wide Canadian streets (not the wisest of choices). I was back. And it felt incredible. This time I wasn't going to let myself fall down the bottomless rabbit hole. My return to London would be a fresh start. Take two. Black-out-drunk-Chelsea replaced by the role of Career-Hungry-Small-Glasses-Of-Wine-On-Weekends-Chelsea. Yes. Much better. 

But before this swap could take place, there had to be an in-between Chelsea. The, My-Irish-Boyfriend-Is-Coming-To-Canada-And-I-Must-be-In-Holiday-Mode-Chelsea. I still like that Chelsea. And so I was. And so he did. He came, he saw, he experienced table service at a bar, he fell in love (minus the table service bit), and I fell in love with the idea that maybe, just maybe, one day, far into the future, a big headed Canadian, and a hot headed Irishman could find themselves living happily ever after in Kelowna's simplicity. Maybe…

But in the meantime, I need to pluck my head out of the clouds and live in the present. The present being London. When I think that a quarter of my limited time here has already passed, my stomach flips and my heart sinks. It's time to make the most of what's left of my expiring love affair with this enchanted city. Here's to us; may we treat each other like every day is our last, and love each other like those days will never end.