Despite normally being a quick and confident decision maker, when it comes to certain purchases, I am exceedingly over-careful. I blame this on my parents, who, before buying nearly anything, extensively research, unflinchingly field-test and compulsively over-analyze every single possible choice. To wit, they’re currently replacing their bed – what should, traditionally, be a half-afternoon excursion – though something on which they’ve managed to spend the majority of the last few weeks. Having gone so far as to buy and return mattress candidates and to stock up on a vast array of bed-top paddings, by now, they’re doubtless well enough versed to pen a collection of volumes on the particulars of pallet purchasing.

I bring this up in the context of my apartment search, which has so far taken me to look at nearly every single one bedroom in all of New York City. That’s only slightly hyperbolic, as my viewing has taken me to nearly fifty potential replacements. After over-extended consideration, though, I finally managed to suck it up, make up my mind and sign a lease. A veritable bluebird of happiness, the new digs are just around the corner from where I live now. And I couldn’t be more thrilled with them.

Except for one minor problem: my lease here ends, unextendably, December 1st. My lease there begins, inflexibly, December 15th. And while my attempts at negotiating that date forward did yield a free year’s membership in the building’s gym, it didn’t budge the move-in date, by even a few minutes. So, for two weeks, I’ll officially be homeless.

Wary of Franklin’s admonition (that fish and house-guests stink in three days), I’m planning out those two weeks using as many friends’ and family members’ couches as possible, to spread the infliction of myself as thinly as possible. Even then, I’ll doubtless chafe under the peculiarities of jumping into other people’s lives and daily rhythms. My grandmother, for example, who lives down at 1st and 20th, has kindly volunteered her house for as long as necessary; due to her 5:00am wake-up time, however, I suspect my relatively nocturnal ways might literally kill me if I took her up on the extended offer.

So, with suitcase in hand, I’ll be jumping from place to place, convincing myself that I don’t really need the rest of my (soon-to-be) boxed and stored stuff. Which, I’m pretty sure I actually don’t. And, even if I do, there’s nothing like a stretch of urban nomadism to make me appreciate it all (sink-side suction-cup sponge holder! How I’ve missed you!) once I have it back.