Loss.

As far as I know, I have to go home. Or I get to go home. I haven't decided.
Going home means getting to go swimming.
Going home also means I lose most of my possessions and someone I care about.
The longest I remember living in one house=3 years.
The shortest I remember living in one house=6 months.
I'd say on average I usually spend around a year and a half living in a house.
There was the one with the garage on the hill that I pointed out saying 'we lived there!' each time we went past it for years, even though I don't remember living there.
There was a two storey house in a weird sort of court where all the houses matched and my dad had 2 mokes and I liked to dress up as Pocahontas and steal pea pods from the plants that grew from our neighbours yard into ours.
There was the house in a court in Mill Park where I made enemies of the girls who lived on the other end, out of which we eventually moved because of earwigs. They were everywhere. We were plagued by the things.
There was the beautiful but small house in Ocean Grove. A 10 minute walk from the beach, a lovely backyard...My nanna owned it and now she lives in it.
There were others but when I try to remember them my mind just goes blank.
I've lived in different houses in different countries and states so that means that when I build up a collection of things...things that I'm used to being able to see and touch and use...I often have to lose them. And friends...I have lost so many friends. Sometimes I've left town and not bothered to tell the friends or I never bother to keep in contact (the internet has changed this ever so slightly, which is wonderful). Once I came out of school and met my dad and he said that we were moving to Sydney and I didn't have any say and I didn't get to tell my best friend until we'd driven all the way to Sydney and I got to call her when I got there.
I used to have so many books. As a child, I read all the time. I read and I drew. All I did. I lived in the library.
I had so many books that they filled boxes and bookshelves and every time I moved I had to get rid of most of them. But my collection would always build back up, as if by magic.
It's slowed over the years.
I spend less time reading but I still have more books than I could carry to another continent. I also have more CDs and DVDs and I have all these random bits of life that it would absolutely kill to lose.
I get jealous of the people I meet who live in the same house they lived in when they were 3 or whose parents (or one of their parents) still live in the house in which they were concieved because that means the possibility of going through boxes and finding things you haven't seen since you were 6 and old photos and not building up your life, wary of the fact that one day you might have to give it all away or just lose it. Once when I was younger one of my mother's friends lived with us and she came home to find that she'd stolen everything we owned except for the TV and a box of photos.
If you're one of those lucky people who has barely moved their entire life, I'm jealous. You should take advantage of that and go through all the cupboards in the house right now.

All that said, I'm not disappointed with how things are. I've travelled so much and seen so many places.
I just want to stop for a little while.