Did I mention I’m going to Iceland? Pinch me, I am! And I should be packing for Iceland because my trip is SOON. But somehow I’ve become this person who puts off packing until the last possible minute. I wait and wait and instead of just doing it, I spend effort calculating how much time I can delay said packing with the same precision my son once calculated the minimum grade he could score on a calculus test yet still get a B in said class.
And now instead of packing, I’m writing about packing.
My suitcase is in the bedroom. That’s something. Like when the airplane reaches the gate but no one is allowed to board yet. Everyone stands and fidgets and stares at the plane through the terminal window wondering when it last had an oil change, relieved it at least arrived on time. When the announcement comes, passengers towing overfilled suitcases slip past harried gate attendants and hoist these whale-like bodybags into cramped overhead space. I attempt to spot who among them might go postal at thirty thousand feet. Because that seems to be a new thing.Continue Reading