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The Moving Blues

Since I graduated high school twelve years ago, I've moved twelve times, never staying anywhere for longer than a year. It wasn't intentional. The first two times I moved for college, but after that I moved for various reasons. I got my first apartment on my own, but then my sister's roommate bailed on her and I moved in with her, then got another apartment, then moved into a house with a friend to help her out... It goes on and on, and I can confidently say that I'm sick of moving.

My most recent move should be the last one for a while (fingers crossed!), but even knowing that I have no plans to move again, I can't help but feel that my residence is temporary. Blame it on 12 years of drifting about, I suppose. I've lost my sense of being rooted to a place, of feeling like it's really home.

While I've been moving, I haven't written or edited anything. All my time has been focused on the move. It's been a little over a month now, and though I managed to write a little bit one day, it wasn't enough to quench the desire to throw myself back into my books.

Last night, my boyfriend and I finally finished cleaning the duplex we lived in for just over a year and turned in the keys. There's still a lot of unpacking to do at our new house, but for the first time in what feels like several months, I'll be able to set aside some time for editing and writing tonight. It doesn't feel real, though logically I know it will happen. It seems more like a dream, something I long for but can't attain.

But it will happen, and that excites me. I wonder if I'll be able to slip back into it as if I'd never been away, or if I'll struggle and stare at the screen for a while. Either way, I'll be able to make some progress on my books again.

It will probably take several more weeks to settle into a normal routine, possibly longer depending on how fast we unpack the remaining boxes. Once that's done, I'll be able to start up my exercise routine again, which is something else that has been non-existent during this move.

With any luck, we won't even think of moving again for years to come, and I'll be able to enjoy a mostly uninterrupted writing and exercise routine. The nomad I've become is skeptical, but buried deep down there's a small kernel of hope, and that's all I need for now.

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