My final week in Vancouver is up and I won't fool you, moving is quite possibly the closest to torture I've ever come. I'm very lucky my mother came to help because we spent all day every day micro-cleaning and mini-rollering every square inch of the apartment. Erasing the memories of poorly aimed glasses of wine (Adrian) and run-ins with walls in general (me most likely). I had to use tools, it wasn't pretty and Joel may never find his multi-screwdriver thinger again.
Today I took out special health insurance for us called Expat insurance. It's an odd thing, we aren't covered under any regular plans for either country so voila: expensive insurance that can be used sometimes in some places for 80 - 100% of treatment depending on the colour of Paris Hilton's nails that day. Awesome. Anyone seen Sicko?
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