When I arrived ‘home’ on Christmas Eve, I came face to face with the futility of unpacking. Why bother? After all, on New Years – today – I would be in Waterloo, living in a place I’d never seen. Not that I’d have any place to unpack to. After all, it’s been an eternity since I’ve stayed put long enough to have all my possessions in a single location. My room is so devoid of furniture, so devoid of any character or semblance of “lived-in ness” that it’s easy to believe that this Allen George fellow is a fairytale. A figment of the collective imagination.
Every time I move I’m asked why it affects me so much. Is it that big a deal?
Is it weakness on my part? Why is it that I wish, oh wish, that I could turn into a swinging, spinning top of self-destruction?
But I am in 4B now. I should be beyond that. Should be used to it. Should.