Goddamned PMS.

Today a new intern arrived at ICHRL. She's Belgian, a law student at La Sorbonne and spent the earlier part of the summer in Montreal.

I was supposed to tell her about CASH. Instead I rambled incessantly about Montreal.

Until a few nights ago, scenes from my 2 years in McGill would play out mercilessly across my helpless eyelids. Humid smiles would transform into full-blown sobs as the finality of my situation would hit me with the force of 100 Rushdie books mysteriously falling from the sky.

5325 L'Esplanade with its creaky floors and homely warmth.
Shamelessly loud laughter and made-up words with Rosemary.
Pyjamas, overflowing insecurities, kahlua and ice-cream with Abby.
Excited shrieks and jumping hugs at Jupiter Room with Kate and Alex.
Bitching about "brown" issues and finding bagels in shoes with Surabhi.
British vocabulary with Kitty.
Thursday nights at Else's with my girls.
Enlightenment courtesy Davesh.
Furious paper-writing to the tune of Cat Power's languid voice.
"Study" dates at Recontre with Carly that turned into animated discussions about Elliott, Davesh and orgasms.
The seemingly endless supply of hugs at SACOMSS.
Head-on-shoulder comfort with one two three four..so many people.

THUD! THUD! THUD!

Never will I have any of that again, at least not at the same time. Visits are painfully deliberate once the initial excitement has ebbed. There is hand-holding, and cheek-kissing, and eye-tearing, but they soon blend into finger-cracking awkwardness. Fond reminiscing is cathartic at first, but it eventually becomes the sole inhabitant of increasingly vacant conversation. There is effort on both sides, but sporadic e-mails and a lunch date are poor adhesives for relationships frayed by time and distance.

The best years of my life have shut their doors on me, and with fair warning, have flung me into uncertain familiarities. It's time to accept that. Apparently, I refuse to embrace the inevitable; I'd much rather sulk until I get sick of my own attitude.

Before I attempt to fall asleep, I wish to dedicate the following Jeff Buckley lyrics to Montreal - the city of strippers, pretentiousness and ridiculously good-looking people:

"You gave me more to live for, more than you'll ever know."

Good night.