The Perfect Box

My life has once again reverted to the search for the perfect box. I'm moving back to New Jersey this week, and I've spent the past two weeks searching for the perfect size and shape box to pack my life into.

When I was three, the hunt was for the perfect box to be my new playhouse.

When I was five, the perfect box would be a rocket ship to take me to the moon.

When I was eight, the perfect box would hide my treasures away from my prying sister with whom I shared a bed room.

When I was twelve, the perfect box could store my secrets away from my parents, who were suddenly the enemy.

When I was 17, the perfect box would carry my things to my dorm and store them in a way that declared my individuality while living in a room that looked just like everyone else's.

When I was 21, the perfect box could hold "one more thing" for the next tiny apartment.

Now, the perfect box will just get me home and through three months back under my parents' roof...