To avoid complications, she never kept the same address.

Moving. Again. The packing up of the scant possessions I’ve accrued in my brief time in this sublet hardly feels like moving; I just took two boxes to the post office, and that plus my wheelie bag covers it. I’ve been glad to get to know LA a little—there’s so much left to do and so many people I still want to see—but it’s been fun feeling settled enough to slip into some patterns. Belonging to a gym was novel, as was cooking breakfast every day, and knowing my three and six mile routes by heart. And (this is almost certainly something only I would consider a mark of stability) now I know the Greyhound station even better than I know the airport.

I’ll miss being here, especially because of the friends who have integrated me into their LA lives (trivia! comedy! playdates! dancing!), but I’m also excited to be setting up a temporary base in SC. Six weeks of routine will be a huge adventure. Email me for my snail mail address—I’d love a postcard.