Packing Is Such a Chore!

I hate packing. Almost as much as I love traveling. I hate it because it requires too much time and effort. And because it doesn’t matter what I pack, or how much effort I put into it—I always forget something. Also, I just can’t ever decide in less than an hour what to take along. Although, my indecisive nature might have something to do with the fact that I agonize too long over clothes. That doesn’t mean I pack a dozen dresses for a weekend trip. On the contrary, I travel very light. A pair of jeans and a few shirts is all I need for 3-4 days. But deciding which those few shirts are going to be, takes me hours! Well, they feel like hours anyway.

I find packing so disgusting I leave it for as late as possible. Last month I’d gone on a week-long trip, and I finished packing barely a minute before I was supposed to leave for the station! I suppose it’s a genetic thing too. My father finished packing only a few hours before me, and my brother (who didn’t accompany us) usually runs late because he finishes packing fifteen minutes after he’s supposed to.

In fact, this blog post is my way of postponing my packing duties for a few more minutes; I’m going on a 3-day trip early tomorrow morning, and I just don’t feel like stuffing my backpack yet. Of course, there are other things to do too, before I leave. Like write three days worth of blog posts. Make a meal time-table for Sherlock’s dog-sitter. Go shopping for odds and ends. Get a haircut. Do a really important favour for my brother. All of which I’m telling myself I’ll do later, being the procrastinator extraordinaire that I am. All—or the most important ones—of which I will finish today, being the responsible woman that I am!

But coming back to packing, I’ve found that I do a lot of packing in my mind. That is to say, because I keep thinking ‘I should pack’, and continue not doing it, I effectively spend more time on packing than I would if I’d just get on with it. And so when I’m doing other things to avoid packing—like now—I’m actually deciding in my head that I should pack the red blouse rather than the yellow one, or that I’ll need that pink shirt because it has long sleeves.

It seems I do have a system after all. I’m not just some lazy bum; my packing is actually done intellectually!

I should go and tell my mother, who finishes her packing a day in advance, and who’s constantly perplexed by her husband and children.

I hope she buys it, though.


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