Good morning, closet door!

I was recently trying to explain to a friend what transition stress/shock was like, as we've been feeling it in this, our fifth house in the last 17 months. I told him that transition shock was not knowing where to buy milk, or looking at your fridge and having to figure out where to go to get what you need to make a meal.  And I think knowing your "commercial space" in a given locale is part of it.  But there's another space that I've been figuring out, too.  Normally, I deal with transitions from one house to another fairly well.  This house is the first in awhile that I have felt this kind of shock, probably because we were in two (very) short term situations before finding this one.  For the first week, I would wake up in the night, and have no idea where the walls were.  I've heard discussions of "mind maps" that our mind/body has, that tell us where our limbs, etc are -- the part of our psychology that needs to adapt when we loose a limb.  I think it goes further than that.  Our house is not as permanent as our limbs are, which we carry everywhere.  But there is a comfort and a certainty to knowing where the lamp is beside your bed, and not having to feel all over for it, because it has been in that same place forever.  Or where your bed is situated in the room, and what the path is to the bathroom. Being colorblind, I'm told I have better night vision than most people.  But I think the fact that I can normally get up and about without the lights on has at least as much to do with the fact that I know what is there. I'm not talking about a sensory perception, that looks around, or considers and remembers what the facts are.  I'm talking about your body having navigated a particular space so many times, that it becomes habit -- it becomes natural.  You don't have to think about it (much) anymore. And I think this is the stress.  Having to think through every little detail of life (where are the car keys?  Where is my underwear?  Where is the children's medicine? Where is my flashlight? etc., etc., etc.) drains the intellectual and emotional energy to think through the things we would normally think about, when these more basic things are given.  I'm not saying that no one else ever has to look for car keys, or re-evaluate where to buy milk.  The burden is when this all happens at once.
Anyway, I got up this morning, and felt my way to our bedroom door, and whacked my head on the closet door.  If you'd asked me where the closet door was, I could have told you. I never have had this kind of closet door before (they're folded on each side, so they stick out into the room on each side when open), but I know we have them now, and we have for almost four weeks.  But my body still had no idea that its quest for the hallway put it on a collision course with the closet door.