Once it’s done, you get a warm, fuzzy feeling. It’s like when you finally finish vacuuming and realize the floor exists again. Then you get an actual plastic card or a piece of paper in the mail that confirms your new address. Frame it? No. But maybe keep it in your glovebox next to the expired single-use chopsticks from that Thai takeout.
Your car now officially belongs to your new home. The universe is aligned. You can go back to ignoring your other paperwork, like your 401(k) or that suspicious envelope from the IRS.
