got boxes?

i've moved a lot. by anyone's standards, perhaps too much. in the past two decades, off the top of my head, i can list 7 different states i've held driver's licenses, and i'm not even counting the different street addresses in all of those states. along the way i've accumulated stuff, lost stuff, found love, lost it, and kept journals throughout.

i don't really have a home.

the house i'm living in now is as much a home as i've had. i've been here now almost two years. at one address. very unusual. but strangely, or not, depending on how you look at it, this is the happiest place i've been at in all those decades. seriously. it's the first place i can remember being genuinely happy. somehow i got it in my head that i could settle here for a while, put up my feet and let things accumulate again.

the decision has been approaching for a while now. we've tried to ignore that it was there, hovering in the background. it was hard for me, because i'm very focused on living in the here-and-now, which competes with my goal-oriented nature, and i was fighting a need to know the future before it's time. but it all bubbled up and here we are.

but this time it's a little different. i'm not in charge of the situation. my owner calls me "the good little soldier". it took me a long time to come to terms with the fact that i don't want to be the chief, i want to be the follower, and that doesn't make me "sheeple". he's telling me what goes, what doesn't. what i can keep, what i should sell, what we'll store. what socks to bring, which teapots. i'm clinging to his direction on this, because i've been so brave in the past, but i'm scared now.

no, not scared. excited. shocked. a little nervous. overwhelmed by the speed of it.

it's his house. but i'm going home.

[pic: Hestia, goddess of house and hearth.]