I often like to think I’ve set some kind of record with the number of houses I’ve lived in throughout my twenty years of being on this planet. It’s eight and a half. Before getting too confused, the half was how I counted that year I moved to a country town for a job. I only moved half my stuff there and came back to live with my parents once every few months so I think it counts as half a new house. I know many people will puff out their chests and say something along the lines of “Ha! I beat you! I’ve lived in nine and three quarters different houses!” Or perhaps they aren’t as pedantic as me about whether a house counts as a half, a quarter or a whole.
My point is I’ve moved a lot and not for normal reasons like one of my parents shifting jobs but because mother and father dearest are self confessed semi-nomadic people. D’mitry was unaware of this when we first met. Even if he had known I’m sure he would prefer the agony of maintaining an unnaturally clean house while it’s on the market before squishing everything into boxes and obtaining several injuries whilst moving heavy things to his former mud puddle. I know I would.
Unfortunately, D’mitry is a T-rex and with that comes the burden of having tiny arms. This is exacerbated by the fact he is tiny to begin with. Due to these circumstances, D’mitry can’t help me pack boxes or move heavy things but he is really good at encouragement and moral support. And being photogenic. So when I was packing my plethora of books into boxes, naturally he was there, standing on top of a pile of old books being supportive. Then the best part of my day happened. Those books that D’mitry was standing on turned out to be not only old, but really old.
There is a certain wonder to holding a book, albeit falling apart, that was published in 1856. Kind of like I was holding a piece of history. So I’m majoring in history. This kind of stuff is my thing. Please don’t stop reading my blog. If it helps, D’mitry likes old things too. Why else would he stand on top of a pile of old books?