Tomorrow marks the two month mark of living out of my suitcase.
It's disgusting because I haven't hardly left the state, so it's not like I've been seeing new places or exploring new cultures these past 60 days. Instead, I've become a couch surfer in my own town.
I'm tired of packing, unpacking, folding, rolling and readjusting my bag, so I've boiled down my most used items to two grocery bags: one for some clothes and an extra pair of shoes, and one for my shower goods. I carry around a third bag of oatmeal and apples so I don't have to mooch food from wherever I'm staying.
(Thankfully, my brother's house is the exception -- I raid his cupboards and continue to rack up a giant rain check that needs to get paid back once I have an address again).
Two months ago when I loaded my car down with all sorts of clothes, dishes, towels, books and decorations, I felt pretty good about having fit most of my life into my car. After purging many of my things through donating or selling, I felt uncluttered and downright efficient. Ha! I've boiled all that down to a couple of grocery bags for the most part, and my suitcase and backpack tag along staying as untouched as possible.
I'm trying really hard to stay positive. I mean, I don't have any housing costs, I don't have a job or classes eating up my time (though I do have an entire language to learn...) I get to spend all sorts of time with my friends and I can take naps whenever I please. Quite frankly, I'm bored. So unbelievably bored. I'm trying hard to savor it because the second I hop the plane to DC, my life will once again be all fireworks and dynamite.
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