Do you know where I live?

Something funny happened earlier today that on some other day may have upset me but, on this day, it simply made me laugh.

I am currently in the process of trying to figure out how in the world to get about one whole extra suitcase worth of Marc clothes that I didn't start summer with from NYC to Savannah in a few weeks when I go home. (I know, I know-- such a pesky problem to have.)

Anyway, when I was researching all the ways of getting things from point A to point B, I found myself on the UPS website entering in some shipping info like the weight of the boxes and the timeline recquired for the job to get done.

Then the website asked me to enter my address. And for about .8 seconds, I had to think about where I lived. Then, it hit me. Duh. I live at 1**7 Port Carlow! And I proceeded to fill in the rest of the registration with my address.

And when a message popped up that said that the shipping info didn't match the billing info, I felt like a doof. Right. No. I haven't lived their since probably... 5th grade. Nice one, Julia.

Let's try that again: 1**1 Port Carlow.

Again. NOPE. It's been a solid 6 years since we moved from that one.

So then, when that slight mind lapse ended, I started to type in my real address, 3** Pirate Road.

Except...wait... I haven't lived there in 3 years.

(What's scary is that this story is by not even 1% an exaggeration.)

Then, totally perplexed by my own life, I had to literally close my eyes, and sit for about 5 seconds to recall the address that I currently call home. The irony in this, of course, is that in the past year and a half that my parents have lived at that house, I have spent maybe about 4 months there in total. And by this time next year, they won't even be living there either!

By the way, the home that I was starting to develop in Savannah since last September also doesn't count anymore because I moved out of that sucker too. Ha!

So, even though I am technically living in 3 different homes in 3 different states in 3 different corners of the country, I still have to think for a second when I have to write down my own address.

What does this mean?

And how much therapy am I going to need in 15 years because of it?

Oh, geez.

Too much to think about right now.

Nothing a little pie can't fix.