so, my parents are thinking of moving.

it’s a weird feeling. in one sense, i have become so adept at being on the move. in college, each dorm room had a shelf life of nine months. in that time, you would put up posters, move in furniture, figure out the angles and spaces where you could change without exposing yourself to courtyards full of foot traffic, etc.. then at the end of the year, you’d move everything out.

in the last few years spent on and off the road, dave and i have each mastered the perfect one bag pack. coupled with a trusted sleeping bag and my *ridiculously* comfortable pillow, i can survive for two weeks without laundry or shirt recycling.

but move moving is different (similar to like liking in grade school).. leaving our house (we moved here when i was in 7th grade) means that in a matter of months, we will be able to quantify all of our worldly possesions.. which is crazy.. when i use to box up my dorm room at the end of the year, i always knew that this was only part of a collection of objects that i had acquired over the course of my lifetime. there was always a hidden stash of notes and pictures and paper footballs and coin collections waiting to be rediscovered in a dusty attic or in the far recesses of a hall closet. there was always a sense that the vague memories of childhood might have a physical signifier that existed somewhere, in some closet, in some box.

do i still own a piece of my yellow blankie? i’ve wondered that for a long time. in a few months, i might know.