Lord knows that, when you're a nomadic UW co-op student, you get good at uprooting your life every so often. Part of this is telling all the people that send you stuff to send you stuff at your new place. (Or, you could've done as I did as an undergraduate, and just had everything important forwarded to your parents' house. But I'm a big boy now, I can have things sent to me.)
It's a giant pain in the ass, changing everything... advising your banks, employer, credit cards, magazine subscriptions, schools, bookies, cockfighting trainers, art dealers, dry cleaners, pedicurist, push-broom rebristler, upholsterer, downholsterer, and the Ministry of Transportation (although I'll get to keep my cool "gangsta-ish" licence photo, thankfully).
Nevertheless, it's something that has to be done. I still don't know my new postal code and phone number off by heart, even though I've said/typed/read it dozens of times so far. Stuff like this takes ages to stick, because it's a random fact, as opposed to something connected to something else (which I'm actually pretty good at remembering).
This is, of course, the complete opposite of the case of my brother. If you tell him one random fact, phone number, postal code, address, or anything else like that, he will never forget it as long as he lives. He's pretty amazing that way. He can also eat incredibly large quantities of food, and remain exceedingly slender. (Yes, you may go ahead and hate him. He's still a pretty good guy, though.)
So, in conclusion, I have a new address. That is all.