It’s not like I love scrubbing toilets, but I’d rather sit on the floor of my bathroom and inhale Lysol for three hours than sit down and stuff a suitcase.

It’s bizarre, isn’t it, this statement coming from someone who loves to travel? You would think that the act of packing bathing suits and hiking boots would compound the excitement factor, that my brain would delight in a thought like “oooo, the next time I see these I’ll be somewhere exotic”. Not the case.

Take my looming trip to Kenya. I leave in less than 48 hours and my suitcase looks as though I am preparing for a trip 48 days from now (see below).

I have no idea why the packing bug eludes me, for I love clothes (80% of my suitcase’s soon-to-be contents) and I even enjoy hanging them up and folding them neatly in drawers (but laundry down five flights of steps? ugh!). If I had to wager a guess it’s my fear of the unknown that bums me out. What if my suitcase is overweight? What if my suitcase contains everything but underwear? Oh, how could I forget underwear? What if a shampoo explodes? What if the weather forecast is wrong and I should have brought another sweater? What if I have to lug this thing around all of Western Europe? (oh wait, that is not an unknown, that was Summer 2008!)

As is, I’m pretending like I know how to pack two weeks worth of clothes that must satisfy 55 degree nighttime excursions and 85 degree beach trips, all while taking care to pack clothes that won’t attract some stranger danger insect that loves the color blue. Ugh.

I keep telling myself I lived for months on end out of two suitcases in foreign countries. Then I remind myself that I had a laundry service and many shopping oppurtunities. Oh, and visitors who brought me more clothes. Then I look around my apartment and marvel at all the items I’ve managed to collect after exactly one year in the Roosevelt? Then I look at my sad, empty suitcase and I look at my google spreadsheet packing list and then I wonder over to my computer and check emails.

Oh look, one from United Nude. Oh, look, the Web shoes (above). I should have those. I should make those. I should not pack any shoe that looks or act remotely like those. But I want to.

There are stylish people in Africa, right?

Oh, packing, how I detest thee!

One thought on “Packing

  1. Pingback: hello, buh-bye « Cleveland Socialite

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