Packing, Part One

I discovered something both important and depressing today. In a battle between me, and a suitcase, the suitcase would win hands down. 

Apparently Tuesday was the absolute last possible day that I would be allowed to procrastinate, snide comment free, from packing. My mom and I did a whole bunch of shopping and cleaning and gardening and errand running, which we gleefully (and proudly) told my dad when he came home, only to have him ask, "But what did you actually DO? I mean to get Emma packed? Did you DO anything?"-thus making it painfully clear that his definition of "do something" and ours were very different, and his definition didn't involve trips to the pet store. 

So Wednesday I went on a mad last minute shopping spree with Kenzie (my friend who goes to Smith with me and has known me from the time I was three years old and bossy), where we attempted to buy huge amounts of microfiber, quick drying, moisture wicking underwear (not exactly the staple fare of places like...say...The Short Hills Mall) and leggings, which was a debacle that I don't even want to talk about. We even went to the drug store where I bought out their aisle of sunscreen and Aloe Vera (and seriously considered buying sunblock for my hair before deciding that it would be acceptable to just smear some actual sunblock down my scalp and settle for looking greasy.) And then we dragged it all home and drank lots of wine and watched The First Wives Club, periodically pausing it to consider things like "trial separations" or what we would do in the (incredibly likely, I'm sure) situation wherein we married a wealthy man, then left him for a sexy younger man, then sat passively by while he (destroyed by bitterness) committed suicide. Would we go to the funeral? Would you? (We ultimately decided we probably would, but wouldnt bring the sexy younger husband and then grope him in the front row. A noble decision I think) 

Well that was a tangent. Anyway. Today I went to the financial planner with my dad which was thrilling ( I could be rich one day if i just SAVE NOW) and heard all about Mr. Rafano's cousin who is a military attache in Cameroon and had to encase his bedroom in a giant cage to keep from being kidnapped. I've noticed that this tends to be the types of stories you hear when you tell people you are going to Africa. People either look politely startled and put on that face I have gotten to know oh so well lately, the "You are making a big mistake just for one adventure and your parents are stupid for letting you do this and why would you go THERE? Kids these days" look. Or they begin to tell you these stories of people they know who went to abroad and then faced horrible dangers and had to have armed guards follow them everywhere. (I've had people mention this from South Africa to India to Greece-who needs an armed guard in Greece? Maybe to keep the amorous men away or to act as a designated Vespa driver after too much wine for dinner) It would be disheartening except that for some reason, I feel pretty safe going to Sudan. That sounds ridiculous and it probably, in reality, IS kind of ridiculous, but I'm not all that worried. Plus I don't think there are any armed guards in southern Sudan to spare for us. And I'm definitely not important enough for a metal cage, especially considering that I'm living in a small tent. (though i suppose its easier to cage a tent then a second story bedroom. Just move the tent to inside a fenced enclosure.) I'm going to just go on the assumption that everything will be fine. If Ben Affleck can do it, so can I. (He just got back from Juba. I didn't pick a celebrity out of a hat, I promise)

Today, ostensibly, was suppose to represent the Beginning of the Packing Attempt. Except that unfortunately for everyone concerned, I am a quasi messy, somewhat lazy college student who just got home for the summer. My mother was potentially the only person happy about this as it gave her a reason to barge into my room brandishing cleaning supplies and fold and throw away and dust and organize to her hearts content until she found the floor. I was less thrilled, especially since she threw in sneaky comments to let me know what she thought of some of my (admittedly ratty) clothing. For example, she would hold up something she had taken FROM A LAUNDRY BASKET, unfold it and say "Is this clean?" Its obviously clean. ITS IN A LAUNDRY BASKET. But I digress. At the end of the day, all the clothing that I wasn't planning on packing was put away while the clothing I was taking was exactly where it had been before the raid on my room-in a couple Eddie Bauer bags on the floor. As an added indignity, she left my bed unmade and sheetless. But who am I to complain? At least i have a bed right now, and it is blissfully bug free. 

So while she was doing all of this, I went up to the attic to look for a bag and discovered that the suitcases were stacked against me. Literally. They were piled like eight feet high and all precariously balanced on one another so that the second I shifted one, the whole pile would fall down. I also discovered that I am going to have a hell of a time fitting all my stuff into it and its going to weigh about 90 pounds (significantly over our weight limit). Its going to take all my craftiness and resourcefulness to not pack like an idiot and throw everything in the bag and say "To hell with it!" That works when your going to say...Colorado, and your really just planning on sitting around in the same pair of sweatpants the entire time but you figure you should have a nice outfit for going out to dinner so you throw in seven different options just to be sure. This time, organization is key! 

I may cheat and have my dad help me. The man is a packing genius.