Yesterday at Abby's birthday drinks, I was telling someone about my summer plans and they were like, 'so basically, you have to move three times in three months.' And I shrugged nonchalantly, and made some dismissive comment about being a practicing nomad for most of my adult life. I think my famous last words had something to do with 'not owning that much that needed moving.'
Now, with four boxes and a garment bag in storage, two suitcases schlepped up to my new digs in Corpus Christi, and my gym bag and two plastic bags of assorted mugs and salvageable foodstuffs (because throwing away cookies is criminal) in tow, I'm prepared to renounce that statement. Did you know that I picked up like thirty books over the course of this year? Prior to 3am this morning, neither did I.
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