At one point, I had calculated that I had moved every six months or so for about 7 years - with moves each semester or at least at the end of each school year, moves during the school year, etc. For the most part, those internal moves were simple. My parents might disagree - having repeatedly suffered through Sunday morning, rushed Claremont moves. The big moves happened at obvious times. Home from DC. After my college graduation. To Sacramento. To San Francisco.

And now.

Though I've been gone as often as I've been home, my stuff has enjoyed its longest post-collegiate stay here at the Ship in a Bottle House in San Francisco's Inner Sunset. I can still remember the day Rob (Martin, not boyfriend) and I spied the For Rent sign over the garage door and our jaws dropped when we learned a 4 bedroom house could be had for a mere $1700/month. This old house, with its abundant character, has made a nice home for the past 3 years. It's been cold, yet mostly cozy. Spacious yet with no space for anything.

I spent today sifting through my office. I know I have done this several times in the past few months, yet today I still managed to fill endless bags for the recycling bin. Those bags were filled with my life so far. That's not to say I'm tossing what I've been or who I am. But I found notebooks dating back to my sophomore year of college - Jack's Congress class in all its glory. And then there was law school. Stacks and stacks of notes, outlines, study guides, strategies, analytical routes, and old exams.

I spent so many hours creating those things. Throwing them out was extremely hard. I've shuffled through them before. At the end of each semester, I'd keep just the important stuff. But 3 years of important stuff is a lot of important stuff. Now, after law school, after the bar, it isn't important anymore. It is proof of where I've been, though. Post-it-noted, tabbed, color coded, indexed, bound, and highlighted, these papers were friends, allies, children, security blankets. Rob (boyfriend, not Martin) suggested I scan them in. Most are in the computer already - albeit without the color-coding or tabs or handwritten extras. I thought I would list out what I had and see if any current Hastings students wanted my notes.

Then I returned to the stack of papers, computer in hand, and realized, no. It's time for it to go. It still hurt. It seems like a waste. But they're gone now.

Except for a small selection of old exams and a few pages of an especially useful outline. And my arbitration class notes because I am thinking maybe I'll need those at the new job. Probably not, but it will remind me I at least took and passed Arbitration, so I shouldn't be too scared.

I found old birthday and Christmas cards. Photos. Notes. Scraps of varying personal significance. It's like panning for gold: sifting through the layers of debris until I uncover something worth preserving. Really worth preserving. It's so hard to purge my boxes and drawers of ticket stubs, cocktail napkins, matchbooks, and cookie fortunes that still trigger memories.

Tripping down memory lane is exhausting.

And dusty.

Tomorrow morning, instead of leaping out of a bed and into a box, I'm going to wander down to the park to take in the morning air and the Arts & Crafts exhibition at the musuem. I haven't really been out of the house in a few days, so hopefully it will revitalize me for an afternoon . . . of packing.

I'm at the 70% mark. It's really easy to get here - the big stuff is packed. But now I'm down to the non-obvious stuff. The smaller, yet not tiny items that have to be combined in unnatural ways which don't seem to fit well in either of the 2 box sizes I've purchased (and am going to run out of, no doubt). I hate this point. This is when it really becomes work. And we all know how I feel about that.

There's a reason this is posted here and not here. The reason will be posted over there shortly. But for the purposes of this post - that's a photo of the purse I just bought on Ebay. I shouldn't have. In fact, I was just poking around Ebay because I have two items selling there. I probably just spent any proceeds - then again, I can't think of a better use for my BarBri and PMBR books than turning them into the Coach Poppy handbag I have desired since I first saw it (certainly more productive than the beach bonfire I would have resorted to eventually). Ridiculous bag? Absolutely. Blatant, name-branded ostentatious, overpriced, unnecessary splurge? Again, Absolutely, though there was an even bigger one that I would probably have gone with instead had I not retained at least a bit of sense. But I love the purse.

And I got a job.

A timeline:

May 17: arrive in US
May 19: arrive Claremont; pass Bar
May 21: return to San Pedro
May 22: read GAA notice in Morning Report; send inquiry email 2:53pm; begin conversation about job opportunities
May 23: email resume and cover letter
May 24: phone discussion about job, invitation to interview
May 25: drive to Sacramento
May 26: interview for position 11:00am; receive phone call for second interview 3:30pm
May 27: drive to San Francisco
May 28: email thank you note, receive reply
May 30: drive to Sacramento; second interview 11:30am; depart interview 12:15pm; receive job offer 12:42pm; accept job offer 4:20pm
May 30 - June 2: ponder buying home, discuss with agents, lenders, find house, love house, recognize limits, move on from house, love rental, waiting to hear about rental.

So, for those keeping score at home, I went from vacation to in-house counsel in less than two weeks. For a girl uncomfortable with change, these have been among the longer weeks in my life.

The only thing missing is Rob. That's our next project.