Tired of being a nomad.

I am tired of being a nomad. I should mention here that the last time I was called a nomad was in tenth grade, when my geography teacher saw me being dropped off in an RV by my stepfather, and decided to use me as an example in teaching the class about nomads. Anyway, for the last two months, I have moved from place to place, never enjoying a permanent home. Most of my time has been split between two (incredibly generous!) friends. The week and a half around Thanksgiving time was spent the way most of my holidays are spent: driving from my mother-in-law’s house to my mom’s house to my dad’s house. This Thanksgiving we also drove to D.C. for a day or two. Christmas was spent at my former apartment in California. During the last two months, I have lived mostly out of my car; yesterday I hauled three large trashbags full of stuff (clothes, Christmas presents, other random objects). I am tired of living out of my car. I am tired of going to Panera if I want to connect to the internet. I am tired of going to Kinko’s if I need to print something. I am tired of deferring to others as to which TV program to watch. I am tired of feeling horrible when my dog poops on someone else’s floor.

It’s my own fault I’m a nomad, of course. I’m the one hat decided to remodel both bathrooms at the same time. It doesn’t make being a nomad any more pleasant, though. Seven days and counting until we close on our house and my nomadic lifestyle comes to an end!