What a year. This time last year I was near full-blown breakdown mode. I had moved into my fourth apartment, this one I was determined to call home-for at least the remaining duration of my university career. I don't know what possessed me to think I was capable to take on a 'fixer-upper' along with maintaining my honours status for the full-time joint honours degree program I undertook, AND run a growing start-up business. 

Possession date for the apartment finally arrived. I did a quick tour of the never cleaned space, sat on the filthy floor and cried. I knew the place needed work, but the reality of how bad the space was hit me within moments and I realized I shouldn't touch anything without first buying a mask and gloves. It was a teardown. 60 years of smoke stained the walls orangey-yellow. I knew I wouldn't be able to breath if I didn't get it sealed over immediately. The high-ceilings which caught my initial love and attention became soon hated with the weeks of washing, priming and painting. I couldn't leave a single surface untouched. Windows and window sills were black with dirt and grime. The 1960's teal green stove I am certain had never seen cleaner, and the fridge, just as old but less teal was alive with black mould. 

I lived with my things strewn haphazardly from boxes and suitcases. A friend visited me, his first words with full sincerity were, "Paige, you live like a junkie". And I did. My only furniture was an aluminum painter's ladder and a mattress on the floor with a few blankets and a pillow. My school work and laptop, along with takeout food containers formed a nest for my body.  

For two months I subsisted like this. My Tuesdays and Thursdays started with class at 8:05 am, which gave me Monday, Wednesday and Friday for crossfit at 8:00am. My 'box' (gym) was a half hour walk, I finished each class on my ass dying, only to look forward to that half hour walk back, this time straight uphill to get to my sociology class in the MacDonald Medical building at 10:35. I had a three hour long seminar on Thursday which I was never prepared for-You simply could not get the one week worth of reading completed with the ability to debate intelligibly in the two hour slot I had before class, the allotted time I gave myself. I don't even remember going to my fourth class. My afternoons, evenings and weekends were spent frantically trying to finish the seemingly never-ending painting, cleaning, and renovating. The times in between that was answering emails regarding reservation requests for my other 3 apartments, and cleaning and preparing these apartments for the changeover of guests. I often would go to a morning class, race to the old port, clean one or two apartments and then race back for my afternoon class.  

The September and October mornings were cold, my little apartment was heated with adorable hot water radiators which I did not have the ability to turn on or control. It wasn't until it was it well below freezing before those radiators would serve a purpose other than vintage aesthetic. It could be minus 35 outside and I'd have to have all the windows wide open to help dissipate the burning heat. But those months of non-heat were cold. I'd change under the blankets and shuffle around with slippers. I often just threw jackets over what I wore to sleep to avoid the changing in the cold. Because my floors were so gross, shuffling in slippers became reminiscent of childhood games where touching parts of the floor was equivalent to being eaten by sharks, I often tripped in my slippers resulting in accidentally touching the dirty floor. I am certain I threw up in my mouth on more than one occasion when that happened. Just a slip of a socked covered toe onto the gross floor would leave me feeling an unclean of biblical proportions. My floor: I had initially thought my kitchen and front entrance floors were painted hard wood. I loved what I thought was painted black and white checker board on wood. I learned after moving in, that it wasn't paint, but very old sticky tile which had worn right through so it was perfectly cracked along the wood lengths of the hard wood it was stuck to. There were areas in the kitchen, like under the fridge and stove where the floor either rotted completely off or the installer was simply too lazy to move the fridge to put the tile on under it. I slowly started chipping the tile away, it wasn't enough. I employed an iron and wet towel and then a heat gun and chemical stripper. This created a grossness of dirt and filth not meant to live in. And because I am sharing my time with university, painting, crossfit, and my business, the task of taking off the sticky tile and therefor fear to touch the floor fell over a time span of never ending weeks.

It was the end of October before I had finally finished painting. Mid-terms were nearly over and I was behind in classes. I was having a difficult time managing everything. My body ached, I was religious with my crossfit training and I knew the painting was hard on my body. But it was my brain which was concerning me. It became numb. It felt like it was made of Styrofoam  A sensation I had experienced several times before, each equally frustrating, but this time I couldn't shake it. there wasn't a morning I didn't wake up without feeling confused and as if hit by a truck. My eyes were blurry, my face would go numb, and I couldn't remember things. I could watch a movie and wouldn't be able to tell you what it was about. Reading and writing papers became a near impossibility. 

I started seeking medical advise. Because my mom has Lupus, M.S., Thyroid disease, and Rheumatoid Arthritis, they tested me for ANA-anti nuclear antibodies, the protagonist in autoimmune diseases. It was positive. I may have freaked out. I was convinced I had MS. Up until this moment, I was maintaining. I was slowly chipping away at my soul-dampening reno project, as well I was keeping up with my school responsibilities and still making it to crossfit. My brain wasn't working, but my abs were chiseled! The fear of M.S. broke me. 

I know I am stopping rather abruptly. I figured I'd post it anyways. I'm tired. g'night.