Dante's 10th Circle of Hell: Moving

I often wake up in a small panic. Suddenly air will fill my lungs, like I've just gasped freedom from underwater. And my heart will start, like it just got shocked back into life by a defibrillator. Sometimes it's because I'm worried about something: an upcoming test. missing a train or flight. Sometimes I'm in the middle of a stressful dream: a new favorite reoccurring charmer, where I bite into an apple, and then my teeth stay in the apple (either I'd be a very interesting patient to psychoanalyze, with deep psychosis--or these dreams are the result of my mother's loving reminders to go to the dentist...)

Today, I woke up, all pulses racing at the moment of consciousness: Today is moving day. 

On top of the logistical nightmare that is moving--no matter how much you prepare, organize, stack, purge, label, it's always harder than you expect it to be. Right?  It's hard to explain how much more emotional moving is than you think it will be.

The littlest things become so sentimental. So hard to throw away. Ticket stubs, syllabi, brochures. 

That pile of handouts and readings you kept with the intentions or hopes of actually reading them. Or referencing them. That name tag you got at that conference where they printed your name with cool letters. You don't remember anything else about the conference, but you kept the name tag. Do you keep it now? Does this mean you keep this stupid little plastic name tag forever, cause you can't bring yourself to get rid of it now?  

Sentiments wrapped up very nicely in this beautiful number from the musical "Ordinary Days":

"Home is where the heart is" yes. 100% agree. But also, home is a little bit where your stuff is. And while your stuff is all in transition, you feel a little..well... home-less. belong-ing-less. It took a while to make that place feel more than just the space that housed your things. It took time to build memories, to enjoy returning there at the end of the day, to host people in your bubble. It wasn't easy to make that home, home. And now you're leaving it, you're moving.

Onto something else. Probably wonderful. But whatever is next is not quite home yet.

Ugh. moving is the worst.