but I don’t wanna be CEO of U-Haul! …

It’s not like I’ve not done it before. I’ve done it dozens of times and all my life.

Moving.

This move, I feel weary. It's unusual, gave me pause to ponder. I suspect part of the weariness is the cumulative effect of having had no place to rest for a very long time. Very long time. Since 1992, to be precise. Then I lived in a traditional and tiny 6-mat room in Tokyo. I loved that spot, my hood, my life.

That happy scene lasted all of a year before it came tumbling down with a thunderous crash that still reverberates. It's been downhill since. Make that skating on thin ice. Very thin.

Rather than revisit the long list of campsites where I've resided since — you haven't the time and frankly neither do I — I'll fast forward to present time. Not a shred of doubt exists that moving from this Room of Walls is right, needed, necessary, timely.  This room is confining, constricted, and tight and the road noisy is, simply, toxic to my system. I can't even feel myself breathing. I know I am. I must be. I'm typing, after all. I just can't feel it.

And though I couldn't say I'm excited about the next stop, it's an upgrade and I'm looking forward to some relative peace and quiet and the cleanliness, so i don't hafta come home and wince at the sight created by three bachelor dudes who — seriously — probably don't even know there's a scrubbing brush and broom.

Still, it's just one more stop along the train tracks. How long will it last? Maybe six months, max. This place racked up a total of 4-1/2 months, which is 4-1/4 months longer than I could reasonably tolerate without renting heavy construction machinery and myself demolishing the noisy road and confining walls. Abode before this was 5-1/2 months; before that was seven. And that's just in these 1-1/2 years in Tacoma!

These moves have come fast and furious, even for me, and worn me out a bit. Past that, though, I woke up this morning with an image very much like this in my consciousness.

Because I'm really and honestly tired of this. It takes lots of energy to move. Takes even more to move every year or half year. To search out new places and pack up and on and on. I'm tired just writing about it.

All of which begs the question: When will it end, and how?

Oh what I'd give to have a time machine about now! If you've got one to rent out, PM me. Oh, how I'd like to skip past the next several moves that await and be in a home. Just be. In a home that reflects my heat and soul.

With the exception of Ed McMahon making a surprise appearance at the front door and handing me a hefty check from Publisher's Clearing House, I do not know what needs to take place to get me off the seat of the U-Haul board.

Sigh. That said, now I really must get to that damned packing …

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