I just unpacked my last box. Nearly four months after wrapping up my life in San Francisco. I don’t think I need to impress on everyone the great misfortunes one encounters while trying to move cross-country. (In fact, the best part about moving is hearing other people’s horror stories and trying to one-up them.) I’ll only note that I’m a terrible pack rat. I’ve got all the warning signs indicating that if I ever encountered any emotional trauma, I might easily descend into an abyss of useless crap and die under the collapsed weight of my cheeseburger wrapper collection like the finest speed-addled, porn addicted hoarder.
Some wonderfully worn shoes I had to good sense to toss before moving:
Some wonderful chairs I shipped across the country at great expense for some inconceivably stupid reason:
