So this clip came up on Twitter for me today:

(I’ve never watched Bluey so I don’t really know the context, but from everything I’ve heard, Bluey is a great show and you can see that in this little clip.)

Anyway, it got me thinking about houses. As some of you know, I’ve moved around a lot. If I sat down and made a list of all the different times I’ve moved (that is, packed up my belongings and transported them all to a different living location), I suspect it would number in the twenties. Hell, between July 2011 and December 2011 I moved FIVE TIMES.

WHO DOES THAT?

I think a consequence of moving so much has been that I’ve never really felt an attachment to any given house. Sure, I’ve missed living in some houses that I’ve spent time in, but I’ve never had an emotional attachment to any of them. I’ve never cried upon moving from a house, and I cry at everything.

I mean, I can understand why people get emotionally attached to their home, especially if they lived there for like 15 years. Maybe if Nate and I ever move from our condo, I’ll feel that emotional loss (we’ve been here nine years now). But I’ve just never experienced that.

Anyway. Just some thoughts.