not the shape in my mind

It's strange, living in a new country. Everything is exactly the same: I still want grapes for breakfast and I still have to blow my nose when I first wake up and my hair still gets frizzy when it rains. It's the sameness that gets to me, the things that are so perfectly like to the way things have always been, and it feels wrong, as though everything is somehow mis-aligned, that these things should have changed along with everything else, that would be easier, to see everything change all at once and get used to the new order of things. But to have to examine each article, each item, each moment of my day as it occurs, every instant, everything, to compare whether it's familiar or suddenly morphed into a new, still recognizable but indisputably changed moment ... M doesn't seem to mind, to notice how many millions of things are different; indeed, he thrives on the change; wild foreignness and disappointingly familiar; like the same cookies in foreign packaging, made from materials in Trenton; packaged in Saskatchewan.