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It snowed. Again. Hold me. I can’t take much more.

Okay, I’m good now.

As I said a couple blog posts ago, I’m looking for a new apartment. This is my fourth move in five years: my parents moved to a new house when I was 19, I moved home from college at 21, moved out of that house at 23, and now this, at 24. It sounds like a lot, but it doesn’t feel like it, especially in comparison to some friends I know who have moved much more than that. I don’t like it, but it’s life, and I’d rather live somewhere with four walls than my car. So here I am, packing.

The worst part is how easily things get misplaced or lost forever. Clothes that I swear I packed up that are never seen again. Books I see on shelves at Barnes and Noble that I’m pretty sure I bought years ago but are nowhere to be found. Worst of all, I had a box with every journal in it that I’ve kept since the age of nine (no joke) that has been MIA since the original move five years ago. I’m trying to convince myself it’s safe in my parents’ storage unit, though I’ve looked several times to no luck. I’m going to move on now, because it upsets me too much if I think about it too long…

The weirdest part are the oddball items that never leave you, no matter where you move or what happens to you. Example: my bipolar Minnie Mouse mug.

My Aunt Rita gave it to my for Christmas when I was 10 and still obsessed with all things Disney. Not long after this the peer pressure got to me and I ditched Mickey Mouse tees for Tommy Hilfiger (from Gabes, not full price, and yes, I had to look up how to spell ‘Hilfiger’). Maybe it was this pressure to wear Polo and American Eagle across my chest to prove how cool I was is why I loathe nearly all name brands now. I just don’t care enough to wear someone else’s name.

Anyways, I still kept the mug and was incredibly protective of it. This was MINE. I drank milk out of it with my pancakes, hot tea on cold nights, and orange juice with a swig of peach schnapps. When I left for college, it only made sense at the time to bring it with me. What else was I going to drink rum and coke out of, a red plastic cup? I even brought to the office once to use for coffee, but took it home that day. Something about drinking from it outside of my house felt uncomfortable, similar to having to explain personal family rituals while acquaintances stare in bewilderment. I know it looks weird for 20something me to be drinking out of this, but I swear it’s perfectly normal…

The most amazing part of it is how its still here after 15 years. Of all the numerous things I’ve lost, this survives.

Which, of course, means I’ll drop it tomorrow and it’ll shatter into a million pieces, but at least I’ll have this blog post to remember the good times.