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12 May 2005 @ 11:50 am
on packing.  
There really isn't much to be done, in all honesty. I just have to -- pick things up. Throw things away. Put the things I'm not throwing away into suitcases and bags, and find a home for my minifridge and potentially also my television. Get myself to my grandparents in time for dinner. It's one thirty, and all of these things are, if I'm being honest, doable.

And yet, gentle readers, and yet. I feel as though I've been asked to walk across broken burning glass into the gaping maw of hell. There's dragging your feet and procrastinating on something, and then there's me and packing. I always put it off to the last minute, but this -- this --

It would be safe to say that I own a lot of things. It would also be safe to say that I am now realizing why owning a lot of things is not really the right way to live as a human being in this world. From here on out, I am renouncing all material posessions.

I am going to live in a cave. I am going to think deep philosophical thoughts in that cave. I am going to wander out from time to time, to say cryptic things to passers by and hopefully set them on quests. I may, or may not, contrive to own a bratchet and chase a white hart into a banquet hall.

I will know the location of the Sangreal. I will eat nuts and berries and stare at the stars.

I will last five days at most in this new existence before I come crawling back, clutching my books and dvds tightly to my chest and telling them sorry, I'll never leave them again.

Packing isn't hard. I get that packing isn't hard. I get that it's something that one must just do.

But, I'd really rather sit on the middle of the floor, through back my head and scream until someone brings me my ice cream and a My Little Pony and potentially does it for me while I nap.

Yesterday I was fifteen, and today I am five. Tomorrow I expect to be a fetus.

Oh, dear God, this just occurred to me: I have to get my stuff out of the kitchen too. There's a new level of terror I hadn't previously really thought possible.
 
 
Current Mood: pessimisticpessimistic
Current Music: Rain King-Counting Crows
 
 
 
Dira Sudisdsudis on May 20th, 2005 05:58 pm (UTC)
Well, judging by your date-stamp, you do appear to be traveling back in time...

pure FORESHADOWING: brad sexnifra_idril on May 23rd, 2005 05:36 pm (UTC)
*laughs* God, if only it had been that time and day. Then everything would have ended up so much better!
teaphile on May 20th, 2005 06:51 pm (UTC)
I used to love packing, the process of finding all my treasures again and getting to hold them in a way I don't on a day-to-day basis. There's an element of discovery and surprise there, as there is in unpacking (which is still fun, I might add).

I've moved too often now to think of packing as anything other than a chore, although I still enjoy making myself throw things out or give them away. The best part of packing, though, is when it's over and you can look at all the boxes together in one room and say, "This is the part of the world that I own."
pure FORESHADOWING: Dis Posse!nifra_idril on May 23rd, 2005 05:40 pm (UTC)
When it's over, that is nice. The sort of, "Here is what's mine" feeling -- it's the rushing and running around and shoving things into boxes and freaking out and throwing everything away part that I'm not a fan of, really.
millysdaughtermillysdaughter on May 20th, 2005 06:55 pm (UTC)
Not to pop the bubble, but the packing is much more fun that trying to unpack and find a place for everything.

**bringing sunshine and joy to the world**
or not


**sends ice cream and many many my little ponies**
there
that is better
pure FORESHADOWING: charlize sexnifra_idril on May 23rd, 2005 05:41 pm (UTC)
*eats ice cream and plays with toys*

You rule.
.: everybody was kung-fu fighting! (icon_mehackthis on May 20th, 2005 07:02 pm (UTC)
And yet, gentle readers, and yet. I feel as though I've been asked to walk across broken burning glass into the gaping maw of hell. There's dragging your feet and procrastinating on something, and then there's me and packing. I always put it off to the last minute, but this -- this --

I realise right now that one of the reasons I adore you is your ability to turn a simple task into something boardering on Jesus turning water into wine and the parting of the red seas. *pets Nifra* Adorable, in a crazy way.
pure FORESHADOWING: CRAZY EYES!nifra_idril on May 23rd, 2005 05:44 pm (UTC)
*coughs* I may very well be a little bit...dramatic. Melodramatic. Highly melodramatic. But it's just that everything always seems so fraught with possibilities of insanity! Which is TRUE because apparently I can't even go to the post office without the crazy. *grins*
Jane Bluestockingj_bluestocking on May 20th, 2005 08:28 pm (UTC)
Good luck with the packing chaos. What's a bratchet? Dictionary.com wants to know if I mean "brachet," a brat, and web-searching wants to know if I mean "Pratchett." It's endearing that software tries so hard to help me, yet I feel no closer to wisdom.
pure FORESHADOWING: Deathnifra_idril on May 20th, 2005 08:38 pm (UTC)
Sweet, clueless software. A bratchet's a dog -- hound, I think. I spent far too much time studying Le Morte D'Arthur -- the precipitating event for the quest for the grail involves (somehow, that I'm currently graying out on) a woman accusing a man of stealing her bratchet and a white hart. I think maybe they're all chasing the white hart and the knight is using her bratchet? I'm not sure. Maybe the woman turns into a hart and is chased by a bratchet that was once hers. At any rate -- there's a bratchet, a lad,y and a hart who walk into a banquet. It sounds vaguely like a very bad old joke. Thanks for the good wishes!