If it’s possible to take a banal activity and turn it into a full-on dramatic re-telling, then I’m the one to do it.

I moved yesterday. Not far from where I used to live– about 20 minutes. Closer to a metro, great amenities, etc etc.

Like a lot of people, I hate moving. And I hate transitions. They force me to confront stuff that I got to ignore like items I never threw away–  greeting cards and mementos from an old relationship for example.

Do you carry that stuff or do you throw it?

I took it.

Then as I unpacked, I looked at it and instinctively turned away. I stuck it in a drawer so I wouldn’t have to look at it.

Any sort of transition makes me jittery. Whether it’s flying to India, or flying back here after such a trip. I feel instantly vulnerable and desperately in need of comfort for something that doesn’t really hurt.

It’s times like that that I’m on the phone with my parents seeking the comfort of familiar questions and inside jokes. It’s moments like that when I think of my parents’ mortality and it makes me more frightened and miserable than I can adequately describe.

Then three days later I feel better and it’s all gone.