Incandescently Ridiculous

I. Hate. Packing.

Lists don't make it better, procrastination sure doesn't make it better, the time crunch doesn't make it better, ignoring it doesn't make it better, actually buckling down and doing it doesn't make it better, writing blogs about it doesn't make it better.

I am in the middle of washing every piece of clothing I own, barring the old tanktop and shorts currently on my body, selecting certain articles that I would like to have for the days-off-Craig-visit-trip-to-Red-Deer-and-Calgary extravaganza, as well as my scrubs, and leaving them out, and PACKING EVERYTHING ELSE.

Of course, I don't think the World's Biggest Suitcase is here, although I have not yet checked under my bed, but if it is not here I do not know where it is...and thus where I am going to pack my clothes to move them to the New House.

(Sidebar: the New House needs a name. The pleasure of my company at a movie (I found a pass on my floor!) to the person that comes up with a good one).

Really, I could just throw them in the backseat of the car. They'd fit in. Marie-Antoinette is somewhat of a traveling closet.

I have even made a Value Village donation pile, which is sadly dwarfed by the MOUNTAINS of other clothes. I may have to do some more pruning. Also, most of these clothes are black; I wasn't aware how much my wardrobe looks like I'm perpetually in mourning until I undertook this Great Laundry Adventure of 2010. I need to go bra shopping. And shirt shopping. None of my clothes fit since I quit eating fast food once a day.

Anyone want a mountain of black shirts?

Soon I will get into the serious part about moving, but not today. Today it is merely about the piles o'laundry.

-rae