If you're wondering why I haven't submitted anything in a while it's because I was busy for a few days, then my 1TB Western Digital external hard drive crashed. It contained, as I'm sure you can imagine, 10,000+ photos including countless hours of editing. I don't think it's completely unrecoverable, but it's going to be a while before I can afford to replace it. Even if it is only a hundred bucks. If you're feeling generous and you'd like to see my work continue, I'm looking at this drive from Newegg: http://bit.ly/mHpmf It's $100 and I think it might have free shipping. Note me for a mailing address.

Our lease is up in 18 days and we still have yet to find new digs. There's so much going on and with 4 people having to agree on the same place to live, then actually finding something reasonable is certainly a formidable challenge. I don't think we'll be celebrating Thanksgiving in any traditional way this year. No one is coming to visit and we aren't going anywhere. Hopefully we'll be done moving by then and on to cleaning up and readying this place for the next tenants. There are a few things I like about moving and a few things that make me really sad. I like the excitement of the hunt in finding a new place. I like the shakeup of packing all your stuff away and then unpacking. It serves, for me at least, as a reminder of how much stuff I can accumulate in a year. It's a lot. On the other hand, moving makes me sad because after you've emptied all your belongings and you start looking around at where you lived, where you existed for x-amount of time all sorts of memories that you had in that place come flooding back to you as if they were in a panic that they might be forgotten when you leave. We spent two years here and they have been a mighty fine two years, perhaps even the best in my life so far. This is truly and utterly the end of a chapter.

Now that the furniture's returning to its Goodwill home, with dishes in last week's papers—rumours and elections, crosswords, an unending war—that blacken our fingers, smear their prints on every door pulled shut. Now that the last month's rent is scheming with the damage deposit, take this moment to decide if we meant it, if we tried, or felt around for far too much from things that accidentally touched. The hands that we nearly hold with pennies for the GST, the shoulders we lean our shoulders into on the subway, mutter an apology. The shins that we kick beneath the table, that reflexive cry. The faces we meet one awkward beat too long and terrify, know that the things we need to say have been said already anyway, by parallelograms of light on walls that we repainted white. So take eight minutes and divide by ninety million lonely miles, and watch a shadow cross the floor. We don't live here anymore. -The Weakerthans Sun In an Empty Room Listen to this song!