Packing

Done, done I think everything is done.

But I could be wrong.

Started packing on Sunday 6th.

Packing makes me anxious... a sort of non-specific tight chested approximation of panic. The kind of panic appropriate when you hear your final boarding call announced mid a slow motion movement in the bathroom.

My instincts are way out of line here.

On Sunday I had approximately 90.5 hours till I had to be standing at check-in... so it couldn't be that.

Packing is so definitive. Once you've zipped up and departed that's it. If you've made a flawed decision at any stage in the process then Universal Law says you're going to need THAT thing two weeks in to your journey and if you don't have it the whole experience will be FUCKED.

I know I know I KNOW that's not ever what happens but my irrational sense of order makes me convinced it's true.

I've tried to be a carry on luggage, two sets of clothes, nothing matters, carefree, swan about. It's just not me. I hate wearing undies that are damp because I had to wash them the night before because I only have two pairs. Life is too short to wear damp undies. Ever.

Or perhaps it's just that my sense of self is so fragile that I need stuff to anchor me in time and space. This notion certainly warrants further consideration.