It's still not done.
It's 11pm the night before I fly, and it's still not done. If anything, it looks messier. I'm not quite sure how, but I appear to have packed in the opposite direction: everything that was in containers is now out of them, nothing belongs anywhere at all, and I have apparently accumulated belongings in the last 24 hours. I now own things that I didn't even know that I owned, and I don't want to throw them away just yet because... well, because they kind of feel like they're new, and I'm still congratulating myself about them.
Plus my washing up still hasn't been done yet. I'm considering just throwing the plates away, now. It seems like the most sanitary option.
"Think of packing like making a pie," my friend said to me this morning when I turned up at work, put my head in my hands and said a number of words that are definitely not on the English syllabus we teach.
"Start at the bottom and don't keep checking how it's doing?" I guessed.
"Ooh, that's good advice too. No, I mean: shove it all in, cram the lid shut and then trim the edges off with a pair of scissors."
So I have a new packing strategy: in half an hour, the things that are not safely in my suitcase are getting thrown away. That should help me to prioritise slightly.
I think I can pretty much guarantee that my washing up will be one of them.
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HOLLY MIRANDA SMALE
Writer, photographer, "rapper" and general technophobe takes on the internet in what could be a very, very messy fight. But it's alright: she's harder than she looks, and she's wearing every single ring she could get her hands on.
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