Packing is one of my least favorite things to do. Packing for a vacation, packing for a move...bleh!
I am completely neurotic about it and I have found it is best when things sneak up on me so I have no time to obsess over the most effective packing method.
I remember the summer before I left for college, I began packing at least a month in advance. I made a layout of the room. I knew exactly where my new hot pink plastic drawers and my purple bowl chair would go. I made special curtains for my closet out of sheets that matched my bedding and I packed. And packed. And Packed. I repacked everything as I got more stuff. I wanted it to be as easy as possible to unpack once I got there, so I packed over and over again so that everything made perfect sense. It was a nightmare. No one likes packing for moves, and I get that, but most people are not as crazy about it as I am. I need things to be packed in a certain way, a way that makes sense, even if it is only to me. I guess I want my things to be comfortable for the move. The longer I know it is coming, the more I obsess. The more I reorganize. It is agony.
The obsession doesn't stop at moving, no, I get the same way about going on vacation. The more excited I am about a vacation, the more time I need to pack. I draw diagrams of my daily outfits (sick, I know), I make lists of each item I need then redo the list based on the type of item it is, then sometimes redo the list again based on where it is being packed. I pretty much make a complete inventory of everything that will be coming with me. It is a ridiculous ritual, that makes me wonder if I should be seeing a shrink.
Once in college, for a trip to Havasu, I had made my lists and was working my way through packing when I got to my black flip flops about half way down the list. I searched everywhere, turned my room inside out, but I could only find one. I became obsessed. I couldn't move forward with the packing without my right foots twin. My friends thought I was ridiculous. They didn't understand, they had finished packing hours before. They were busy pre-partying before the trip. They had both their flip flops. I jokingly made a lost sign and hung it on my door, offering the reward of a hug and smile if you found my flip flop. I was kidding...sort of. The missing flip flop and unchecked box on my list crippled me. I was on the verge of potential emotional breakdown, when my roommate, and best friend (a giant footed woman like myself) offered me a pair of her black flip flops. Ah, I could move on, finish my packing and enjoy the rest of my night. It still haunts me.
Nowadays, I try to trick myself into waiting until the last minute to pack. It's always best if I don't have a complete itinerary. This way I can't agonize over every little thing. I still get the minor anxiety of potentially forgetting something, but I don't waste hours of multiple days organizing a 3 day trip. You would think I would have become an excellent packer since these days I am pretty much a nomad with no place to call home. I live out of a backpack between the house I grew up in (yeah, my roommates usually feed me and go to bed before nine) and the boyfriends house. I am getting pretty tired of the endless packing (and unnecessary self-induced anxiety) so I think I am going to get my own place again soon.
This post was mostly to help me avoid packing for my trip to San Diego this weekend. So far it is working, but all of a sudden, I feel the need to put my black flip flops in a secure location until they are ready to be zipped up into my weekend bag. Yeah, you thought you had problems.
No comments:
Post a Comment