it's like having a baby, over and over again

It's that time of year again. The time when I'm constantly dripping in sweat, letting out expletives like no one's business, and asking myself "how much do I care about my dishes?"

That's right, I'm moving.

Since I was 17, I have not lived in the same place for longer than 9 months. Most of this was due to coming and going from college, but since I never make things easy, I usually would move from college to home to another location for the summer, then back to home then back to school. Last summer was the trifecta: graduate, next day move home, pack not only my stuff to move across the country but pack my parent's house for their move, and then lived out of a suitcase for 3 months. It got to the point where I could pack my entire life in about 45 minutes.

I've realized that I now just assume I'm not going to stay somewhere very long. As I pack my bedroom (cough cough closet), I have nothing to take off the walls. No photos, posters, not even a decorative vase. I knew that the apartment was only for a year, and just told myself that I would just have to take everything down soon, so why bother. Almost like I was a surrogate mother for my living space, carrying it to gestation but knowing I couldn't get attached because I just had to give it back to its rightful owner.

The place I'm moving has definitely not been an enjoyable conception, but hopefully it will result in a loving relationship, rather than a purely symbiotic relationship. I think the porch swing should help with that...