Michael R. Barrick

So there is one thing about my job that is occasionally disturbing. The view out the window from my cubicle faces a small park that I associate with a very intense emotional moment. It's where I had to say goodbye to a girl eleven years ago. This girl remained the ideal by which I judged other women for years à la Reive's "Megan Andrews Rule". In fact, because she was staying at what is now the Renaissance Hotel, which is just around the corner from my office the whole area is steeped in memories of her. It doesn't help that on a subsequent visit (which had serious ramifications on my life - it's a long story) she stayed at another hotel just around the corner in the opposite direction. My office is in the centre of this space that is crawling with memories of her.

It is the result of a larger "problem". I have a tendency to remember altogether too much. It is why I am such a fountain of useless information. I am also a creature of habit and I don't like moving around. I have a few favourite places and things to do and have only ever moved my home out of necessity. These things in combination add up to the fact that everywhere I go there is some memory, some ghost of someone who used to be in my life. Vancouver has become the landscape of ex-girlfriends.