I am a nomad. I have lived four different places in my not-quite-three years at Penn, not to mention the two summers I’ve spent in New York City dorms. I have done the roommate thing, the living in a house with 30 other girls thing, the off-campus thing, the apartment-style grad dorm thing, the subletting thing. I’ve done it all. And I’m moving again in May. And then one last time in August. Just for kicks.

I haven’t called a place home for more than a few months at a time since I graduated high school. And I’m sick of it. I’m envious of my friends who will live in the same room for three years straight following their freshman year flirtation with college housing.

That’s not to say that my housing has been bad. In fact, I’ve been fairly lucky. Freshman year I had a wonderful roommate (hi Melissa!) and arguably one of the sickest rooms in the Quad (bay window, fireplace, hardwood floors and a bonus room we used as study/storage space... sorry Hill-ites). And I managed to get cozy singles in nice off-campus houses ever since. My summer housing hasn’t been too shabby either.

It just seems like such a novel idea to stay in one place for any chunk of time in college. Most of us are pretty transient, and we make it work because, well, we don’t have any other choice. I will contend that while some of my moves have been relatively painless, others have been hellish. I will also contend that the mid-year move is by far the worst kind of move. It is so bad, in fact, that it is the last week of February and I am just now settling in to my new pad on Beige… that I will leave in less than three months.

Fear not, though. We here at Street aim to make your moves as pleasant as possible. Tired of dragging your crap from place to place to place in big brown boxes? Check out Lowbrow’s suggested post-move box usages (pg. 19). Need to get out your moving-induced aggression? Try roller derby (pg. 4). Just want a pick-me-up? Three little words will change your life: Food Porn Daily (pg. 7). And whatever you do, use bubble wrap — nothing says amateur like broken shot glasses.

So spoke the wanderer, Julia