Packing woes

I don't like packing because I'm generally bad in organizing things. No one would believe me if I told them, but it'd be nothing short of the truth. 

First, I fucking procrastinate. That itself is a sin itself when it comes to practical tasks - because, hell, time just passes by faster than you imagine - especially when you tend to enjoy every single day, stuffing yourself with food and laughing heartily with your mates.

Next, I get distracted.

Pretty easily, I'll say.

Like, "Hey, did I actually own this book? Let's look at the synopsis and see what it's about. Not bad. What about the first page?" 

OR.

"Oh, so that's where my black nail polish has gone to. Come to think about it, I should probably apply a new coat." 

Like a fucking girl.

Which I am, but that's not the point.

I shouldn't be complaining about the fact that I'm going to Italy and China this year end. Screaming with joy and twirling around like some overexcited pre-teen would probably be apt, but I was whining over the fact that I had to bring all the winter gear home. 

Why do you have to be winter at the end of the year, Northern Hemisphere?!

Anyway.

I hefted the bag up and peered at the weighing scale. 18kg. 

I was allowed a total of 20kg.

And I hadn't even finished packing.

Damn honey that my parents wanted me to bring home. Damn those glucosamine and chondroitin pills. Damn those chocolates. Damn international flight rules that deny liquid on board! Curses. Bloody hell. 

Random thought: I wish I had a British accent. That would be cool.

Anyway, I was folding my socks into neat little piles. It was then when I realized one was missing its partner. 

...First world problems, indeed.

"Julia," I called. "Have you seen this grey sock's other half?"

Apparently, she hadn't. I took this issue up with my host mum. "Well, sometimes socks turn up weeks later," she said, looking calm. "It happens all the time. Sometimes they disappear in the wash, never to be seen again."

Well, hell.

"Come to think of it," she said,  "Maybe you should check under your bed. I was changing your sheets the other day and found socks under the covers."

...

Well, that was sound advice, but my socks weren't there today.

I hate it when my socks fucking disappear into another dimension, because that shit is impossible and probably adds another vote of "yes" to the question of whether Harry Potter actually exists or not. 

Good magic is good magic. 

I opened drawers, emptying their contents out onto the floor. I scooped up bottles of nail polish (probably one of the few vanity "cosmetic"-y items I will only use - and that's because I like them colours), scrunchies and some jewellery, dividing them into piles. Right, I noted mentally, I'll bring the black, silver and violet home. The rest could sit here in NZ and rot for a few months while I'm away.

The next drawer I opened revealed to me a hidden stash of food. I facepalmed at my own poor memory. Yes, I had my own food - how could I forget? All those hours spent at the Asian snack shop, raiding their shelves like some chick on her period. Right. Well, I certainly couldn't bring them home, but keeping them here wasn't an option either. Just then, I brightened up - why not just give them away to my host sisters? 

With that, I began distributing my food stash. There were Pringles, Pocky sticks, pudding, instant coffee (never had the need for a serious caffeine fuel for the finals - I wonder why) and chocolate-coated marshmallows - yummy goodness. 

Then there were the remaining few bags of food which had been opened and had to be finished by myself.

So that was what I attempted to do.

And now I feel sick.

Fucking prunes. Why did I buy prunes again? I could've gone with dried mangoes or something. Prunes? Anne, really?

Random thought: I'd love to have a British friend sometime. Even better, a British male friend. I'd dig his sexy accent and force him to adhere to English stereotypes. I already have Kiwi friends (and one sole Aussie mate who totally changed my view on things), but hey, Brits...

Riiiighttt. 

Today I was tramping around town with an address in my head - well, I would be busing up to Christchurch soon enough, so I had to find out where their departing terminal from here was. The rain poured in persistent fashion, causing me to scowl like the angry Chinese chick I was. 

I got lost within the campus.

Don't ask how.

I don't fucking know.

But I had walked in circles. Twice.

...

Why.

...

Aaaaaand back to more packing tomorrow. And meeting up with more people. And deciding how to lighten up the baggage weight a little because hell, it's getting heavy.