I have a new address. That’s nothing new–I’ve had a new address at least once a year since I moved out to go to college nine years ago.

I have a new phone number, and even though I’ve had it for a few months now I still have to pause and think hard before typing it, or giving it out. That’s nothing new, either, as this is at least my seventh new phone number since I’ve moved away from the 509 area code.

Yesterday I closed my Bank of America account, since I’ve been exclusively using the Joint Married People’s Account. I’ve had that 8-digit account number memorized for 10 years, and as I recited it for the bank teller yesterday I realized that it was the last time I’d ever say that sequence of numbers. Now when I want to make a deposit I’m left scrambling for that scrap of paper somewhere in my wallet, I know you’re there somewhere that has my new account number.

I finally opened an account with the Kootenai-Shoshone Library system, and now no longer do I type in my 13-digit Seattle Public Library card number when I want to place a book on hold. It’s still there, rattling around until we move back, but now I have a new number to type in, and if I’m working upstairs then my library card is inevitably downstairs and vice versa.

It’s as if all the anchors have been pulled at once–I feel a little adrift….