I realized today, with my move to Boston slowly, but surly, gliding toward me, that I’ll have moved all of my stuff 13 times in the past six years after it’s all said and done.
That can’t be right, I thought immediately. But sure as shit, it’s true.
August 2009, from Mum and Dad’s into Dahl Hall.
May 2010, out of Dahl Hall back to Mum and Dad’s.
August 2010, from Mum and Dad’s into Nelson Hall.
May 2011, from Nelson Hall back to Mum and Dad’s.
August 2011, from Mum and Dad’s back into Dahl Hall (the un-renovated side)
August 2011, from un-renovated Dahl into renovated Dahl.
May 2012, from Dahl Hall to my aunt Denise’s.
June 2012, from Aunt Denise’s to Shark House.
May 2013, from Shark House to a storage room in Grantham Hall.
July 2013, from storage room in Grantham to apartment in Grantham.
June 2014, from Grantham Hall to Holmquist Hall.
June 2015, from Holmquist Hall to Apt. 3.
December 2015, from Apt. 3 to Curry College, Milton, Mass.
Sure. It’s expected for college students to pack up all of their stuff so many times during their years at school, but this feels like a bit much, doesn’t it?
The weird thing for me, though, is that packing never gets any easier. I still have to purge every time I do it, and figure out how to put as much stuff in each box as possible. It’s like the least exciting game of Tetris ever.
It’s no secret: I hate packing my stuff and I hate moving it. There is very little I find to be fun about the whole endeavor, and I’m pretty sure that if gingers had souls, mine would already be gone from moving so many damn times.
Maybe this is it for a while though; maybe I get to move, be settled, and be content for a few years until I’m off on another grand adventure. But even if it only ends up being a pipe dream, at least I can say that I’ve moved more than the majority of people I know, right?
Silver linings, people. Silver linings.