Perhaps the hardest thing about moving…

… perhaps is not the missing of people I like and care about. After all, I can see them when I want, I can visit and pop in and so forth.

The hardest thing about moving also isn’t the process, the hauling of boxes and crap from one place to another, because (joy of joys) I own far less crap in general, and I have a friend helping me move it.

No, the hardest thing about moving is that I shall have to give up on my petty resentments and annoyances, those things that I realize now have taken on a kind of comforting status in my life. Who shall I ridicule? Who shall I quote with shock to my clever friends? How shall I adjust to being comfortable in my own apartment, an apartment that I decorate and arrange according to my own taste, instead of having to inhabit someone else’s Smurf-village styled wannabe bachelor pad? What shall I do without two opposed office cultures that shun one another, and the sense of righteousness that comes from being accepted among what is undoubtedly the more truly critical, cleverer, and downright decent-hearted of the two office cultures? (Which is not to say the two offices. One outstandingly decent, clever, and critical person somehow manages to work mainly in the other office without going insane.)

Is this what it means to be a gregarious creature? Quite a dark little surprise, really. I’m not exactly sure what to think about all of this. But it is interesting, anyway…

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