Tuesday, May 27, 2008
More than anything, I love to pack. There is such a thrill in getting the opportunity to chose which of your lucky things get to escort you on whatever trip you are about to embark on. And even more, the CHALLENGE of fitting it all into your suitcase perfectly, so everything has it's own place, fits securely, and comes together in the end like the most complicated puzzle ever completed.
Of course, that only happens once. Just because you did it in the first place, doesn't mean those exact same items will go in the exact same way that you brought them. Usually, once I arrive at my destination I tend to need things that are at the bottom of the suitcase, and I will carelessly tear apart the puzzle in my urgency and forget about how pretty it was.
At the close of the trip I try to recreate my masterpiece, and THEN SOME, because lo, there are NEW items to join the group and they need a place too. I'll try to fit it all into the case the way it was before but sometimes PANIC settles in and unnecessary force thrusts all my belongings into my suitcase and some things aren't folded or rolled, and clothing becomes the wrapping for delicate purchases and in some cases things are left behind.
Then I get home. And on average, the suitcase will sit opened in my room for a week. It sits there like mangled roadkill, as I only take from it what I may need that day; a shirt, some socks. It lies there rumpled an unattended. I can't do it all at once. I don't know why, it seems like such a large effort that I am not willing to give.
Those of you who came to the cabin last weekend, my bag is still at the foot of my bed, half unpacked. And I don't want to even look at it. Someone help me...I have an uncompulsive unpacking disorder.