Futon-crashing is not the ideal way to get into the spirit of a new home base. The nomadic style of living was never my bag-o-tricks, if only because I’m not the most efficient packer, and I enjoy having stuff that I may not actually need. Living out of a duffel makes it near impossible to remember what you’ve brought with you, and when your focus is trained elsewhere (say, on trying to quickly metabolize vast amounts of new-job information), there isn’t much time or will to re-sift and reorder for some semblance of organization. So while I’d be thinking a lot about my once-was home anyway, I find I’m thinking about it more because I currently live in a cubby-hole in my sibling’s apartment. Not to worry though, that will change by the end of this week.
A growing number of people I’ve met so far, upon learning about my move, have asked me how City B compares to City A. I like to think I give a rather diplomatic response, that the two are incomparable. Or that I can’t quite answer that yet. While both responses are true, the most accurate would probably be that A is by far superior than B (a highly biased opinion). And while wandering around City B (not as much wandering done as I plan to do once out of my nomadic slump), I’m not in the right mind set to notice much new. Mostly the familiar. The bits and pieces of my precious A, easter eggs, hidden among the credits of B. It’s a fun game. It let’s me find things like this:
And these friendly familiarities serve as a different kind of landmark, besides the obvious ones that make City B what it is.
