The Chronic Nomad

Fun fact about me: I move. A lot.

In the past five years, counting to and from college, I have moved at least 8 times and am currently in the middle of my 9th move. I may have forgotten a place somewhere in there; but still. I googled it (I know, that’s impressive research. I am super dedicated to giving extremely accurate info to the fanz), an average person moves 11.7 times in a lifetime. A LIFETIME. I have moved 9 times in the past five years alone and I’m only 20. Come January of 2015 I will be making my 10th move, with the anticipation of my 11th and possibly, 12th as well somewhere midway through 2015. I guess you could say, I’m above average.

Chalk it up to wanderlust or whatever, but I am most definitely a nomad. I absolute love it too. Minimal attachment to concrete places makes it easier to just pack up and go. The only issue with that is the packing up.

I 100% suck at packing.

I am a below average un-packer as well.

You would think that by the 9th time I would have figured it out, and don’t get me wrong, I’ve picked up a few tricks here and there, but I still am the worst. I think it might be the un-packing more so than the actual throwing my sh*t into boxes.

I am currently living with a quarter of my stuff at my apartment in Philly, a quarter of my stuff at my parents’ house in Hometown, NJ, and half of my stuff in the backseat of my tiny little PT Loser. To give a mini-example of why this is an issue, I’ll break down what happened to me last night:

I came inside after being out with my friends for the night, in anticipation of being up early and heading out of town, yet again, the next day, I wanted to be prepared and get my things together. Because of my refusal to move the rest of my stuff inside (since I will just have to repack it in a few days anyway), most of my wardrobe is in my car. So I put on my coat, go outside, grab the dress I want to wear tomorrow. Cool, perfect, awesome. Lock the car, go back inside. Take off my coat. Take my shoes off. Hang my dress up.

Oh sh*t.

I forgot my shoes that I wanted to wear in Philly.

Rack my brain for other options, think that I might have a pair in the car that will be good. Put shoes back on, re-bundle in coat, go out to the car. Dig through another box to try to find shoes that will make up for the ones I forgot. 10 minutes later. Finally settle for the fact that I have no other good shoes with me, and that I will just wear the shoes that I wore that day. With a sigh, lock the car, go back inside. Take off my shoes. Hang up my coat. Decide I’m ready for a shower.

Start the shower, grab towels from the closet, take my pants off.

Oh sh*t.

All of my toiletries (shampoo, face wash, etc.) are in the car.

Turn off shower, put pants back on, put shoes on, put coat on, go back out to the car. Get my toiletries and make-up bag. P*ssed as f*ck at this point. Lock the car, go back inside, throw coat on the ground. Ditch shoes at the door. Restart the shower, take off pants and actually make it into the shower. Take a nice, long, hot, de-stressing shower, sing some of my favorite tunes, get out and wrapped up in a fluffy towel, comb my hair, put on some moisturizer, brush my teeth. Very sleepy at this point, ready to get to bed.

F*CK.

All of my pajamas are in the car.

This was the part of the evening wear I just said f*ck it. Went to sleep naked and decided that tomorrow is a new day.

The moral of the story: When in doubt, don’t be f*cking lazy and just bring all of your sh*t inside so that you’re not running around like a chicken with their head cut off at 2 AM because you left more than half of everything you need in a place either ninety miles away or outside in the freezing cold after you’ve just showered.

Note to Maz: Get your sh*t together.

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