A moving experience

As I was lying in bed last night in my half-organized new bedroom, my tired muscles pleasantly adjusting to my recently-acquired memory-foam mattress topper (yes--I live in luxury, what can I say), I was thinking to myself for the five-hundred twenty-sixth time* how very much I despise moving. It's not so much the hunting or the planning or the contract-signing that I mind--but more the moving process itself:

The cleaning
the sorting
the packing
the sorting
the packing
the running out of boxes
the realization that I might have a small hoarding problem
the sorting
the packing
the cleaning
the trips to the dumpster
the packing
the hefting
the loading
the cramming
the stuffing
the shoving
(whew)
the unloading
the reloading in a why-didn't-I-see-this-large-item-much-much-earlier exasperation
the shoving doors closed
the pretending to be able to see out the rearview mirror
the traveling
the unloading
the unpacking
the finding of storage space in an already-inhabited apartment wherein items in kitchen cupboards and coat closets have apparently been producing offspring for fifteen years
the trips to the dumpster
the finishing unpacking
the organizing
the adjusting.

And yet.

I continue to subjugate myself to this abhorrent process. I have lived away from home for six years, and somehow have managed to inhabit eight different apartments during that time. I have lived in an apartment with no air-conditioning during the summer, whose thermometer didn't register triple digits, so the temperature just read "03." I have lived in a 3-bedroom apartment with 6 girls and 1 bathroom. I have lived in a couple of g-pods.

As I reflected back on my numerous places of residence (admittedly, some were more fondly reflected upon than others), I found myself becoming restless. Rather than drifting off to peaceful slumber in luxurious foam-mattress-topper comfort, I lay wide awake. Minutes ticked by.

So what does one do when one can't sleep? Well, it makes me feel a little "sheepish" to admit this, but...I started counting roommates. (Baaahaha, don't I just come up with the greatest puns?!) 

And so, in chronological order, I began to tally. LaShel, Cecile, Alice, Brittany, Kathryn, Chelsea, Allison, Michelle, Summer, Courtney, Ingrid, Shelley, Chelise, Whitney, Hailee, Missy, Lizzy, Courtney (a different one), Ashley, Nyssa, Mary, Erica, Coco, Karen, Stephanie, Desiree, Teri, Hillary, April, Christina, and Jihye.

All in all, I have lived with 31 roommates (and that's not including those I lived with in multiple apartments or for multiple years). Whether this is something to brag about or not, I'll leave you to decide...

Ah, relocation. Such a moving experience.

*I know you're thinking, "Wow! She has kept track?!" Yes, yes I have. Ask me to show you the tally sheet sometime. Fair warning, though--if you do ask, it might take me a while to find it, and I might offer you a cupcake to distract you.