A New Englander Moves to New Orleans, Chapter Two: Packing

The lease signed--somewhat dubiously--I turned my attention to the million-and-one balls that must be juggled in order to coordinate a move. I move a lot. I don't know why. It just seems to be my life. It's not like I enjoy it, but I guess I've never learned the art of staying in one place, which in some cases is more of an art than moving around is. So I've done this a lot, and I'm pretty good, I think, at remembering all the things that have to happen: utilities in both places, and forwarding of mail, and changing addresses at banks and credit cards and magazines.

( The Dull Drama of Packing Up a Life )