it is beyond me why -- for someone who hates change as much as i do -- i am finding the closest local mall in my fourth resident city in less than four years. and alone. again.

after moving an entire country away in order to keep the ocean to my west in lieu of to my east, there has apparently been great anticipation for what daniela would have to report.

well here it is:

i want my fucking money back.

the golden gate bridge is neither red nor golden.

in fact, it's gray.

and as far as my extensive (read: brief) marketing and legal backgrounds tell me, this is grounds for punitive compensatory damages. (dear lawyer friends: i know this really isn't the case, but grant me temporary poetic license.)

oh wait ... that's the bay bridge?

about 2750 miles away from the place i've called home for the last year, i find myself removed from the classrooms i'm used to, far from the people i love, and -- most heartbreakingly -- light years away from my bamboo plant, anita.

somewhere in the gene pool, i caught a contagious strain of an adventure disease, a syndrome that, when active, inspires me to detach myself from all the comforts of life, relocate to somewhere i've never been, and explore/pursue/screw.

this disease manual, however, doesn't have a chapter on what to do when one's feline gets out of his carrier on an airplane. twelve rows later, i jumped into a guy's lap, grabbed the cat from between his legs, and apologized profusely for my loose pussy. (no joke.)

when my heart stopped pounding after the drama of chasing a 15-lb cat at 30,000 feet, i realized that jobs and academia have been the impetuses for my moving every summer (*except one) for the last 8 years. needless to say, my mom and i have gotten very efficient at danielafying living spaces with bright colors, unnecessary amounts of toiletries, peach-scented air fresheners, and homemade chocolate chip cookies.

however, what this perpetual movement means for me is that when i'm sitting alone on a sunday evening feeling homesick, i'm not really homesick for my bathmat or my mattress or my kitchen sink; rather, i'm homesick for things like:

my friends.
inside jokes.
my TIVO.
my pots and pans.
and anita (the bamboo plant).

miami's humidity.
the st. louis arch.
politically-inspired DC happy hours.
and aldrich 109 in boston.

ex-best friends.
ex-crushes.
ex-boyfriends.
and my ex-childhood.

this summer's relocation stimulus was accepting an internship doing a job for which i'm mostly unqualified at ... we'll call it kuugel, like noodle kugel ... a company that works in an industry in which i have little expertise located at the polar opposite end of the country.

after all, it would be unlike me to begin a project or job if i didn't start by digging myself out of a 6-foot hole.

so as i was stomping the payment and chomping my gum (east-coast style, naturally) around my new neighborhood this afternoon, i began asking myself why, despite my intense distaste for feeling so uncomfortable and so alone, i love relocating. (my therapist would be proud of this accidental self-reflection.)

maybe it's the a fresh start.

maybe it's the opportunity to re-decorate.

maybe it's dropping unnecessary amounts of money at the same stores but in new malls.

or maybe it's the chance to continuously re-invent myself throughout my twenty-nothing transformation.

whatever it is, moving is exhausting, difficult, and frustrating.

... but it beats standing still.