Everyday for the past week, I have been sorting through all the junk in my apartment that I have collected over the last seven years of Boston living. And everyday for the past week, I have carried that stuff—in a duffle bag—to Goodwill on my morning commute to work.

The problem is that in the evening, I also bring a duffle bag of stuff back from the office. When you work all the time (as many Americans do), you start to spend most of your waking hours at your desk. In a sense, your workplace becomes “Your Other House.” You may keep plants there… or postcards, photos, keepsakes, snacks for pulling all-nights, spare Lightning and USB cables, gadgets… corporate creature comforts.

I’m coming to realize that moving doesn’t mean just leaving the home that I physically live in and rent from a landlord. To some extent, moving also means leaving behind my Other House—the workplace friendships made over the years, the comfortable and familiar environment, and more abstractly, the routine.

In time, I’m sure Blizzard’s campus will become a New Other House. I’ll fill my desk there with gizmos and thingamabobs. But that’s far off; for now, I’m just Other Homeless.