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In the past 3 years, I’ve moved 5 to 6 times.  And in the 4 years before that, I moved 9 times.  There was even a span of about two weeks last month where I literally lived out of a suitcase…and carried a very heavy backpack wherever I went.  I move a lot.  And not because I enjoy moving. 

Today, I discovered that the cubicle I had settled into for the past 4 months had been taken.  Permanently.  And I lost it.  Both the cube and my sanity.

I’m not sure why I was so upset by it.  I don’t actually own my cube.  At my office, we have to reserve our cubicles; and we can only reserve for 2 weeks at a time.  So I guess it was bound to happen that someone would slip in and reserve my cube.  But permanently?  And without any notice?  I almost wanted to throw a fit.  And I kind of did…quietly…to myself.

I guess I’ve just gotten to a point where I’m tired of being a nomad.  In life.  I haven’t had anything consistent or unchanging for longer than a year.  A year is pretty much when my nomad-o-meter goes off.  And it kinda stinks when I think about it.  It’s gotten to a point where I dream of living in a house, whose address is my actual permanent address, which matches the address on my driver’s license, and I get all my mail there.  Even my Netflix.

You know what’s funny? I have never invested in decorations.  It never made sense.  I always knew that wherever I was, I wasn’t going to be there long enough to warrant buying a $100 rug.  I was the person who had a chair in their living room.  Not a couch.  Just a chair.  And whatever hung on my walls was either something I made or got for free.  I’m looking forward to the day when I can actually decorate my home.  And own plates.  And silverware.

That’s it.