Pack ratting

Today’s blog should be about hugging and the trials of hugging your extended family, because my own mother took the trouble to g-mail chat me about writing a “story about how you do the bob-and-weave when people try to hug you.” Everyone knows that I love shit-talking about family functions; however, it is with a heavy heart that I report that this blog post shall not be about hugging. When I started to think it out it sounded a little too much like a Seinfeld episode. And if I’m going to be sounding like any TV show from the late-90s it’s going to be News Radio, ya dig?

So, I’m going on a trip at the end of next week to an undisclosed location for an undisclosed amount of time. But it occurred to me as I was driving home that no matter how much I enjoy a vacation, there is something extremely fun about thinking about going on a trip. And I don’t mean the count-down crap that the girl in the cubicle next to you is practicing. No, I mean the hardcore thinking, like thinking about what you are going to pack and whether you have mini-sized toiletries. I wondered as I drove whether I would need to do laundry or go to the bank, and my brief outing is still a week away. I considered what to leave my domestic-person to eat and what book to bring for the plane. That sort of domestic planning really floats my boat.

But I think that I have mentioned on this blog before how I love packing. Putting everything that you imagine that you will need into a bag is very soothing for me. I like placing things carefully, knowing full-well that they will shift around and that I will end up stuffing dirty clothes in on top of them while away. Looking into a well-organized bag (you know, clothing folded, pajamas on top, toiletry bag tucked into a corner of the bag, extra sneaks set neatly at the never bottom of the bag) is like looking into a well-organized mind. I figure if I can’t have one, I might as well have the other.