I can’t stand packing — when leaving. Packing done while going towards a destination is one thing.

It’s not nearly as annoying and time consuming. Part of this must be the phenomena that somehow shit exponentially explodes ten fold, despite not having actually purchased anything. Save a Victorian vase I found at an antique store that I sent home with TC. Doesn’t count.

It feels like I’m never going to get everything ready, though I know I will. I don’t know how my aunts handle three months up here, since I can’t handle three weeks.

This is about the time when I wish I could wave my magic home wand and be sitting in my living room, on the couch, with the kittens.

Whom I fear won’t recognize me or will be pissed we left them for so long. Regardless there are about to be some changes for them — since my brother in law has informed me they are becoming big fat chunkers. I can’t have fat cats! That just screams, look how irresponsible of a pet owner you are. And I’m not!

So I’m off to go get the massive clean on. Then I’ll consider packing.

Maybe. After yoga. And other further procrastination. Very Taurus-like of me.