I'm in the bedroom at my brother's place, soaking up the network connectedness of his DSL line. I'm back in Toronto, and trying to figure out just what I've done: yes, you're in your hometown, but you're unemployed. As the parting from so many good friends in M'ville was bittersweet, so is my return to T.O. My possessions are en route, somewhere between Georgia, Montreal, and Toronto. Probably Montreal, where they're supposed to call me and transfer everything to another truck bound for Toronto where the warm arms of a storage locker await everything I own. But not before Canada Customs inspects my possessions, and declares them fit for the country - or for an appropriate tax.