I'm currently undergoing probably one of the strangest moves I've ever done before: I'm moving down the hall. More specifically, I'm moving to the back bedroom in the house I've been in since September of 2004. There will be some packing, but very little of it. It's just moving things here and there for the next three weeks into a larger bedroom that was once occupied by Jason. (He moved ten minutes away to a house with his girlfriend, and I have a new housemate moving in during the first week of July.)
Prior to living here, I moved a lot of times for college. During my first semester at TCU, I lived in an apartment fifteen minutes away from campus, and cannot say it was the most joyous time of my life. I moved into a co-ed dorm the following semester, then into the newly-built on-campus apartments the semester after that. By then, I had already moved more times than I had ever moved. Frankly, until I moved to where I live now, I never really got the sense that I had a home away from home. Apartment life just seemed like a room, a small bathroom, kitchen, and den, and a lot of alone time.
I'm very happy to have a friendly parting of ways with my housemate. Unlike previous roommate situations, there were no hurt feelings or a sense of relief when the other one moved out. Though I miss having the dog around, I'm penciling in a trip to a nearby pound to find a new companion to have around.
Yet still, the whole idea of moving without packing or having my parents and friends help me move is a strange sort of thing. I like the slow pace, but find the clean-up work a long slog ahead.