Thursday, February 7, 2013

On paaaaaaaaaacking

Packingsmackingclackinglackingbackingdacking.

It's boring, it's what it is.

I think I've mentioned it before, but I hate packing. H-A-T-E it. It's one of those things I put off and off and off and off (sidenote: listen to this reggae version of "No Surprises", it's all the catchy and silly and weird at the same time. All of it) and off and off (it's really difficult to type "and off" many times in a row, you know. Sooner or later you start typing "anf odd" and you do it in a reggae rythm, especially if you listen to the reggae version of "No Surprises") and off and off 'till the very last minute and then I'm all "OOOhhh, noooooes, I am totally stressed out because I need to pack all my stuff and I spent all this time not doing it while really I should just have done it in the first place and got it over with. Gaaaaah!!!".

This is especially true when it's actually packing *all* my stuff, for, you know, moving. Moving again. *le sigh*

Packingtrackingklackingsackinghacking.

True to form I am, in addition to putting off packing, having a crisis of sorts, reflecting over all the random crap I somehow manage to accumulate over time. It's a ton. Probably not in actual metric terms, but in actual manner-of-speech-ic terms, it's a ton. Clothes. All the clothes. Books. All the books. Jewelry-and-make-up-and-shoes-and-candle-holders-and-random-stuff-I-can't-even-categorize. All the jewelry-and-make-up-and-shoes-and-candle-holders-and-random-stuff-I-can't-even-categorize. Dust bunnies. All the dust bunnies. I am trying not to pack those. But they are here, trying to sneak into everything.

Besides, I am oddly ambivalent about this move. The place I'm moving out of failed all my hopes, so I shouldn't feel that letting go is any loss. But I do. I do feel that. Despite all its shortcomings, and the fact that I only lived here for a year, this place has held some interesting memories of mine. Important things in my life have happened here, or at the very least while I lived here. Generally, I *always* hate leaving a place. I never feel "done". Similarly, I now wonder if I gave up too easily, if things would have been different if I had acted different..?

I sound all melodramatic, now. It's the packingblackingglackingtrackingsacking talking, I swear. In reality, I am glad to leave this place. And I am glad to move into the new place. Even if it means, once again, to compile all my stuff into boxes, again, freaking out over how much stuff I have, again, and thinking that once I get settled in the new place, I won't buy anything, ever again. Again.

("Dr. Feelgood"..? What is this playlist anyway?)

Outside there is a beautiful sunset. The sky is all pink and impressionism-ish. Pollution, no doubt. I've liked the sunsets here. I've liked sitting on the window sills (I've had window sills you can actually sit on! I've always wanted that...), looking at the busy street outside. I enjoy watching my inherited globe, never mind that it's old and the Soviet Union is ripping at the seams, as its soft light blends with the view from the window.

See? Packingyackingrackingjackingbbbackingmackingnacking.

Boring and melancholic. Bad combination. I go in full procrastination mode when faced with such obstacles. Watch 6 episodes of a new drama series because the Norwegian broadcasting company will only leave them up online for another month and a half? Check. Invite boyfriend over to "help" (while in reality none of us had any intention of his visit being very helpful at all)? Check. Try to burn all the candles (so that I won't have to pack them)? Check. Airing out the entire room to avoid smoke detector inferno? Check... Have hard-boiled "what are we doing with our lives?"-discussion with unemployed 22-year old (soon to be former) flatmate ? Oh yes, check.

Paaaaaaackingpaaaaackingpaaackingpaackingpackingpckingpkingpingpngpgp.

Also, now I am procrastinating from writing my packing-procrastination post. It seriously took around 15 minutes between the previous paragraph and this one.

(And I've switched to a new playlist and I don't like this one either. They should make "this playlist will make packing less of a pain in the hind box"-playlists. Wait... Maybe they do? ((Who are "they"?)) Maybe I can google that? ((Yeah, you can google it, but the results that come up are pretty useless. Meh.)) Or maybe I should just look up "anti procratination playlists"? Nah. Later.)

(((Yeah, I know, "putting off procrastination" is an old joke. Sorry.)))

I really need to get a move on.

But the procrastination playlist I found sucked too! I may have to make my own...

Or maybe I just do the actual packing?

Ha. You would think.

Still not doing it.

Still not.

Not.

Maybe..? No. Noooo. Nonononononoo. Noooes. Nope. Nooo. No. No. No.

But...? A--no. No.

..?                                                                         No.


But yeah. I guess, I suppose, it's really not doing itself, I've been trying all day ("Use the force, Cruella!"), but... Yeah? Maybe? Be efficient for half an hour and then take another break?

(The break is a lie!)

((But then so is efficiency.))

Packingschmacking.

4 comments:

Michael Offutt, Speculative Fiction Author said...

Well at least if you are packing, it means that change will soon sweep you up in its arms and settle you where the winds of prosperity shall set fire to your life.

Powdered Toast Man said...

try hiring a packing giraffe to do the work for you.

ViolaNut said...

Dust bunnies - wait, that's one of the Norwegian words I actually know, right? It's hybelkaniner? Yesno? And if you're packing and moving and all that, I won't send this box till you're settled. 'Kay?

Sue Travers said...

"... and never, never, ever buy another thing. OK?"
Words hissed by me to my two children who suddenly descended on MY SPACE for two months over Christmas... and still haven't properly left again. Your ability to attract "stuff" and procrastination woes are definitely cross cultural.
Hope you're comfortably settled into a new, happier space.
Sue

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