31 October 2014


I got an address change sticker for my driver's license in the mail today, listing my new address here in Gone West (the address from which never ever shall I move forever and ever amen).

I sat down on the little orange couch that I bought when I first moved to State of Happiness, and I peeled off the layers of stickers on my license.

I peeled off the address where I lived in Gone West last year.

I peeled off the address where I lived in Universe City for two and a half years. 

On the surface of the card was the address where I lived in a little studio apartment that looked like an oversized hotel room for the first two and a half years I lived in Gone West. 

I stuck the new sticker on the license, covering that first address, folding the sticker over the bottom edge to update the bar code and the fact that I want to be an anatomical donor should I die. (I've never bought the argument that you should not list yourself as an anatomical donor on your license lest the paramedics give up on you sooner. Really, people?) 

I'm all official again, and it feels quite delightful.

(In other, no-segue news, I got a card in the mail today from the local office of one of the major political parties, informing me that I voted in 2008, 2010, and 2012 (I am a voter!), and telling me whether the people living around me - who were listed only by street, with names blacked out and street numbers blacked out - had voted in those years. Does that freak anyone else out? It is a matter of public record that a person voted (not how they voted, obviously), but what good is it to me to know that people whose addresses I do not know and whose names I do not know failed to vote in the 2010 mid-term elections? Am I to go hound them? Is that the point? Because it isn't happening.)

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