Secondly, I did absolutely nothing today but clean and pack for college. The floor of my bedroom is a labyrinth of clothes I haven't seen in years, my hands are sick of refolding stubborn sweaters, and I'm more concerned than ever about the probable chance that I won't fit half my crap into my little dorm. I know I should be a big girl and choose ONE of the six white camisoles, but I keep catching glimpses into the future, in which I'm wearing one white camisole, and all hell is breaking loose. All hell that could have been contained, were I wearing a different white camisole. What if I spill something bright red and stainy on the white camisole, and I have some kind of twist-of-fate need for a white camisole later that day? What if the white camisole gets lonely? If I bring two, will the others feel left out? Can I really pick favorites like that? What if the previously-specified hell is destined to break loose unless all six white camisoles are in Athens at my disposal?
It's realistic, troubling internal debates like this that have been plaguing me all day long. I've let my mind wander to the point that I nearly justified packing my junior prom dress. When they're all in one place, I appear to have enough t-shirts to clothe the von Trapps for the next decade, and I can't seem to narrow down the stack. I never before fancied myself a pack-rat, but I guess my room's just big enough that I never needed to face the reality that I am. I seriously, seriously am. And it's wreaking havoc on my mother's temper to see the ever-growing mass of pajamas and Soffe shorts accumulate on my rug.
I have a really good grasp on the situation, though, as I'm curled into the only uncovered corner of my bed, observing the surrounding chaos, and writing a blog. If Mom asks, blogging is an essential aspect of packing. For example, I need to recharge and meditate on pressing issues like white camisoles, or the pressure of college will get to me. Yeah. And I need to be listening to Miley Cyrus Radio on Pandora, because it will, um, energize me. And I need to be writing facebook notes, because... I... need to.
Sigh. Fine. I'll finish cleaning, but it's not just because I can sense your disapproving head-shakes, reader. I'll finish cleaning out of unadulterated fear that my mother will come back in here and turn into the Incredible Hulk. See what I do for you guys? I RISK MY VERY LIFE.
Sexy: Joseph Gordon-Levitt. He's too skinny for my taste, but he has a dreamy face. It took an imdb article and an entire movie of my drooling and fantasizing before I realized who he is. He's Cameron from 10 Things I Hate About You! But with his voice fully changed! There you go, Cameron. You went from a cute teenager to a smokin' man.
Unsexy: The fact that Kathleen leaves tomorrow for school. She stopped over to hug me goodbye, and it frigging sucks with how many more friends I'm going to have to have similar encounters.
Chipotle burritos this year: 27
S'mores this summer: 6
White camisoles on my floor: 6
Bye, guys! Hopefully I'll see you tomorrow. <3