Right, I’ve convinced myself to post once more from Australian soil before I leave. Which is why I’m sitting in my backyard on a heap of dirt. Not really. Alas, the packing process has nearly come to an end! I mentioned some of my packing dramas on Sunday in a captivating piece of writing (Not really) but I forgot to mention the closing stages involved in packing a suitcase.
After you reach the ‘everything is finally in or near the suitcase’ stage, it’s time for procrastination. You’re close enough to being fully packed that it’s ok to take some time off, but also not fully packed so you should really just finish. (That’s what she said. OhyeaIwentthere).
It was also sometime during this procrastination that all enthusiasm for packing, what little of it there was, disappeared entirely. I also had the following exchange with my mother after we discussed random events and happenings and she went to leave the room.
Me: “Haaaaaaaalp” -lies helplessly on the bed motionless- “Help me pack!”
Mum: “No. I’m going to get something to eat.”
Me: “But I can’t do it by myself anymore. There is no hope!” -dramatic flop-
Mum: “…Too bad.” -she leaves-
Me: “DON’T LEAVE ME!” -overly dramatic arm extending in her direction-
Mum: -walks back into the room to give me THE LOOK that says ‘Wtf are you on’. Laughs then leaves.-
I didn’t even bother pretending to sulk. I just went back to procrastinate more. And imagined this happening.
It’d save me having to pack?
But it didn’t. I finished packing eventually, weighed my bag, took a few things out, and should be set to go. Except now that last stage of packing has set in. Where every item you happen to see, you consider its worth and value as an item that has to be packed. This is good and bad.
HELL YEA- I dont need it though. So no..aww.
This process goes on until I leave. And even then I do it in the car. “Do I need that half eaten breath min-” Just kidding. Maybe.
Random interruption that has nothing to do with any of this, except falls in the procrastination category maybe, I nearly provoked a fight with an old lady. I’m so tough. Context: Someone is annoyed as their grandma doesn’t want them to leave to see me.
Them: My grandma doesn’t want me to leave?
Me: Ah. I’ll fight her for you. Wait. Not that I’m suggesting violence against little old Chinese ladies.
Me: Maybe we’ll fight in some sort of game I’d win. A sprint across the lounge room. Or scrabble. How is she at blackjack?
Them: Better than you.
Me: Hmm. Not blackjack then. Maybe Halo. I think I’d win at Halo. Unless she has unexpected coordination with modern gaming systems. Maybe I should just fight her to see who can be under 30 years old. Yeaaabitch. I mean. Unlucky grandma. Grandkid is all mine. Sorry. See ya!
Yep. So, without further ado or grandma threatening, I’m off to CALIFORNIA BABY. Women with whipped cream cans on their boobs galore. See you on the other side. (Of the Pacific. Der. I hope.)