One would think that, by now in my traveling “career,” i’d be at least halfway decent at packing. Should one think this, one would be wrong.

It’s one of my greatest vices: poor packing.

I leave tomorrow morning at the crack of dawn (well, 7 am hardly qualifies as ‘the crack of dawn,’ but i’ve regularly been sleeping in until 11 so it feels extraordinarily early (want some cheese with my firstworldproblem wine?)) and, at this moment, when i should be zipping up the case, i’m blogging. Mega. Procrastination.

I’m not normally a procrastinator by any stretch of the conscious. And yet, come time to leave home, i’m always dragging my feet. Perhaps it’s because i am savoring the vacation, or maybe it’s the vacation mindset i get set into. When you spend all your days doing nothing but watching the BBC online and playing with cats and seeing friends, every kind of responsibility you have sort of evaporates. Ah, well, i’ll pay the price for this later.

“Our battered suitcases were piled on the sidewalk again; we had longer ways to go. But no matter, the road is life.” Jack Kerouac

current jam: benedict cumberbatch interviews. it’s a dark hole i’ve fallen into, friends.

best thing in my life right now: cats and suitcases.

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