Recently, via a Facebook status, a friend pointed out the origin of the word nostalgia. It’s apparently a compound of the Greek words nóstos meaning homecoming and álgos meaning pain. Needless to say I’ve been nóstos-álgosing all over the place since the conclusion of Seven Days of Wool. While both a week and a trend are ephemeral by nature, the nostalgia of the two continue for quite sometime.
Completing a sartorially themed week garners a certain feeling of pride. I had managed to produce seven similar, yet different outfits all revolving around one fabric: wool; each day forced to be a little more creativity than the last. To date, I’ve spent a collective two weeks dressing via theme and if nothing else I’ve learned the advantageous qualities of guidelines; that is, their ability to facilitate some level of creativity.
Generally when wondering what shirt, shoe or sweater will inspire the subsequent articles, I draw from thin air. I rarely give myself any sort of guidelines; I walk around my room, put something on and snap a selfie. Seven Days, however, has been a sort of launching pad for, if for nothing else, the ease of getting dressed.
Albeit, the days are sporadic, they are no less woolderful. Today for instance, includes characteristics such as: a popped collar with leather detail, thrifted wool and a reversed DIY-collared denim jacket. While the following has little to do with my outfit for day six and more to do with the prospect of me living in a box come January – I’m nevertheless about to vent on the difficulty of finding living quarters in Toronto whilst currently living in Halifax.
I’ll call, we’ll chat, several pictures will be exchanged, a monetary email will be sent and voila, I’ll be sheltered for the winter months; if only. The difficulty in the process of ensuring both myself and my manfriend aren’t spending the winter months getting in touch with nature can easily be equated to the difficulty of looking at this and not feeling bad for everyone involved. EXTREMELY difficult.
What has been several months in the making has now gone beyond solely affecting my living situation to chipping away at my self-worth. I’m beginning to wonder if it isn’t the scarcity of apartments but the dullness of my voice? volume of emails? or maybe the hyperbolic nature of my approach, i.e. ’I'm OVERJOYED at the sight of your apartment’, ‘My heart beats to your apartment’s drum’, ‘Your one bedroom fills a hole in the depths of my being incomparable to another inanimate object.’ that’s leading to an unprecendented number of no’s, sorry’s and get-away-me’s.
Just today I received an email that said, in its whole, ‘Not the way it works.’ If giving you an outrageous amount of money to live in an apartment that may or may not be large enough to house my collection of plaid, not to mention me, isn’t the way this works than I’m at a loss for words. When did finding somewhere to sleep and watch Homeland become so difficult? With that being said, if anyone has suggestions of places to look, or even better a penthouse condo in downtown Toronto free of charge, I’m all ears.
Also, day six.