a momentary lapse of reason

Last time I moved it was after the wedding. And it wasn't like I was moving far away; the Wife lived with her parents in Rockwood which was about 30 minutes away from Guelph. Though the In-Laws weren't there, as they were working overseas in Hong Kong. So the house was basically ours to live in. The Wife worked downtown, and I had been working at my job in Markham for just over a year and knew full well what the commute would be like. So we decided to head in together every day to keep each other company. I would drop her off at the subway at Yonge and Finch, and then head up to Markham. My first mistake was to think that this wouldn't make much of a difference in travel time; in hindsight the typical delusion of most Toronto commuters. And so I give you a rant that has been building up over the last two and a half years.

The Drive, or how I learned to loathe the very act of getting into my fucking car.

It only took about four months of our little arrangement to realize that it was incredibly stupid of us to continue driving 100 km in traffic that might actually move every once in a while while taking it up the ass from the gas station and 407 ETR. So we decided to check out the new developments in Markham. We liked the area, and it was convenient for both of us. Easily creeped out by small town charm and too uptight for the city, I preferred the comfortable atmosphere and convenience of this new suburbia. We put a down payment on a perfectly sized townhome that would be ready in 11 months. We figured this was an investment, and would come out ahead when it was done. We patted ourselves on the back, and began to wait.

We continued with our every day journeys, complaining to each other how ridiculous the drive was, how we basically ate dinner when we got home and then turned in for the night, how there wasn't time for anything else except work and taking care of the house on the weekends, how we didn't do anything anymore and our lives essentially revolved around a god damned car. I mean it took at least a half an hour just to get into Guelph, then do our errands, and get back as the day was ending. We were living in a bedroom community, plain and simple. It was depressing.

I began to take stock of the things I hated during our two hour toil to our paychecks. Bad weather was often enough of a reason to stay home; the first time we tried to go in after a reasonable snowfall it took us three hours. Each way. Traffic or accidents were a fact of life: there wasn't anything we could do, so we just sat there, listening to boring radio stations. The repetitive programming, the unfunny commentary, and annoying commercials were like tiny holes being drilled into our skulls. This daily procession into work created a hardened shell around me. At times I was catatonic: we wouldn't even talk to each other. It became a routine that deeply scarred our way of life. I became quick to anger. I never considered myself someone who was succeptible to road rage, but every day I cursed a blue streak or honked or weaved around some poor soul that was barely out of driving school. Below the intense anger I felt helpless, mired in some twisted parody of a life. Though paying money to sit in traffic on the 407 seemed like the indignity of the ages, I learned to loathe an aspect of our commute even more. The Kiss 'n Ride at Yonge and Finch.

I don't think there is another place on this earth that is full of such concentrated hatred for one's fellow man. It's like every person's car is an isolated bubble, where only themselves and their quarry are present at that moment in time. It doesn't matter if stopping suddenly, or blocking the right-of-way will clog the entire station for the next 30 minutes - these things don't occur to the absurdly self-absorbed asshairs that inhabit the area. And the fights - over the past year I had someone bang on my window once, upon which I rolled it down and told him to fuck himself directly in the ass. But others have not been so lucky. Dust ups, as you might call them, are more common in the winter months or during rainy weather. Only their passenger is important in the grand scheme of things, and as such anything that gets in the way of picking up that passenger is an indisputable act of aggression, and will be met with the most furious of reactions.

Then we heard from the developers that our townhouse in Markham wouldn't be ready on time. Eleven months had come and gone, and they hadn't even started work. This was the breaking point. But instead of jumping off the roof of my office building, we took action. We gave Rockwood the three finger salute. We moved to an apartment in Toronto.

A friend once told me that you have to live where you work, or at least work where you live. It is entirely unreasonable to ask anyone to sit in a car, in one-person car traffic, breathing in the fumes from the inefficiently running engines of SUVs driven by working soccer moms or high rolling pricks too good to live in the GTA. I've heard people try and convince me that Milton is a good place to live, or even Georgetown, where people can enjoy the quiet life of being away from the city, while still enjoying the comforts of civilization. They tell me, "Oh, it's but a 45 minute drive down the 401 to my job", to which I respond by laughing bitterly in their face. Employers don't care how far away you live - you have a job to do, and it's entirely up to you to get it done. Coming from someone who did this commute for almost two and a half years, I think my opinion bears a reasonable amount of weight.

It feels so good to be close to everything. I think I speak for both of us when I thank all of our friends for being so supportive over the last year. It's been really shitty not being able to see everyone very often, and we're not that pissed about you not coming to see us every now and then. It's also been really hard not to bitch about it here at this site, because even though it was like a kick to the balls every time I drove to work there was always a solution to the problem: move closer. Plus, I hate weblogs that complain about life and I wouldn't want to be one of them. Wait, scratch that. I just hate weblogs.

Maybe it was the thought of letting the developers win; hell, as far as we were concerned the place should have been built on time in January and this interim move wouldn't have even been necessary. But I'm going to take this fortunate opportunity and use it to reconnect with the people we're close to, and enjoy the life that has been given back to us by living closer to the jobs that we both love.

I felt so ugly before