In the last 10 years of my life, I’ve moved (at least) once a year (this is the eighth apartment in NY). I hate moving. The mere sight of cardboard boxes makes me shudder. The sound of packing tape makes my skin crawl. So, why do I keep doing it? There is a variety of reasons, but one upside is that every time I move, it’s another chance to re-decorate. Granted this move was less than smooth sailing (couch got ripped, mirror got cracked, rug got a perm…), I am finally home. And who can complain about that?
- Making coffee only to realize you’re out of milk.
- That one scratchy, scraggly edge of a toenail that scrapes against the sheets all night.
- People who do the right thing and then act like they did you a favor. Um, thanks for being a decent human?
- The undying support of loved ones.
- Not having to share closet space.
- The fact that Cafe Gitane has Kirs on the menu.
- Grocery delivery.
- Moving on.
Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll be over here sitting on my nonexistent couch.
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