I’ll be moving again next month.
I shudder to think about it, honestly, even though it’ll be just across town. Moving is a special sort of suffering, in which you have to pay for two places at the same time and also, clean one of them really, really thoroughly.
This isn’t that big of a deal in this case, but somehow I have reached the age of 31 without learning how to clean an oven, my vacuum cleaner and I are barely on speaking terms and I don’t even know where my Windex has gone.
It probably left me for someone with more mirrors.