First thing you should know; I’m packing. And, in a similar fashion to cleaning my room, that activity has a rather special effect on my frame of mind. For one, it tends to bring items to light I’d forgotten about. (a pair of shoes, a magnetic braclet, some nail polish, devastating red lipstick, a ring of mysterious keys…) Packing also means I’m going somewhere. In this case, I’m taking a bus, a taxi and plane somewhere. In One Two Three Four Days I leave. My heart rate hasn’t been stable for about a week now. *takes a quiet moment to hyperventilate and then comes back*
I am excited. True Story. And due to this excitement, subsequent glee, and utter lack of care for what I appear as, I am dressed in creative fashion. I just keep adding and substituting parts of my outfit, becoming progressively more eccentric. I started packing in my nice professional clothes. Now, halfway through, I am garbed in argyle knee-socks, a paisley skirt, red canvas shoes, my dangly grab-bag earrings, a t-shirt with four guitars and “choose your weapon” on it, and a necklace in my hair. Yes, you read that last item back there correctly. I wear necklaces as hair ornaments.
And this is only halfway through. It’s entirely possible I’ll have resorted to face paint by the time I’m done. And the state of mind I’m in, I would paint my face, and then walk through the entire centre of town to Tim’s. Possibly chortling. For ten km. *ponders whether there was something in her morning coffee*
Okay, I’ll be good, I’ll calm down, I’ll make my eyes focus, I’ll- keep working on my heart rate.
I have a plane ticket and a hotel reservation and visa card and an arranged pickup at the airport and I’m packing.