Packing

Packing is horrible.

There are many different methods to packing. Some, like T, blitz it in a few hours, beginning only on the day that they will be moving out. My method is quite possibly the polar opposite of said approach. I pack slowly. Really. Slowly. I started a week ago and have been packing bit by bit everyday since. I don’t know why I do it this way. Maybe, subconsciously, I actually enjoy it, and that by doing it day by day I am therefore prolonging the activity. Or perhaps its because I’m a lazy sod who cant be arsed, does 5 minutes worth and then gives up. I’ll let you decide that one blog readers.
On this occasion packing has been particularly slow, because I am moving it home to a considerable smaller room. If you can call it a room. So instead of chucking everything in bags, I am going through it all. Sorting it. Throwing away things I don’t need.
And that brings me to my second problem. I have some sort of disability where I cannot throw things away. Tickets stubs. Pretty boxes that for the last three years I’ve not yet found a use for, but one day I just might, even my notes. Yes you heard me readers. I am not a note burner. I was not one of those who left there last exam and celebrated like a pagan over the flames of my notes. I keep them. God knows why. I have them all, from first year. I am a hoarder. Oh god. I’m my nan.

It’s two days until I leave University. Forever. Sounds dramatic doesn’t it? The feeling of indifference is still there – but I know that there is a torrent of emotion that will spill everywhere the minute I’m on the M6 heading south. I had a lovely weekend with everyone. Pangaea was great. This is the huge end of term festival where the entire Union is opened up with beaches, bands, orchestras, games, you name it its there. Everyone parties until 7am and then walks home to continue the celebrations there. I left at 5am. I don’t remember wanting to leave at 5am. I have memories of my friends telling me I probably should and sort of just, going. Like a hypnotised drunken mess. It wasn’t until I was on the bus that I remembered I had no keys. So I spent three hours passed out in my friend M’s bed until someone could let me in. Excellent. Following that was Parklife. Another festival, but in Platt Fields Park in Fallowfield. Equally as good, but with cider at £4 a bottle there wasn’t a chance of me getting as drunk as I was at Pangaea. I’m a student. I’m frugal.
This has been followed by the summer school I’m working on. 100 14 years olds for three days. Delightful. Although this year I am supervisor, which in some respects means taking on more responsibility, but in other respects means choosing the best group to hang around with, or the best workshop to sit in on. (Most of the time this is the ones that involve food in some form). It’s fun, but hard work and tiring. Story of my life.
Right best get on. My things aren’t going to hoard themselves you know.

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