Boxes and Bags

I've been putting it off, but don't think it hasn't been on my mind. Every time I look around my room, my brain goes into analysis mode, mentally categorizing every item my eyes alight on for one simple thing: is it coming home? If so, where and how?

Packing. It's the end of the year now, really and truly, and very soon all the things I've arranged so carefully around my room and apartment, the things that make a room my room, will be jammed back into their casings, ready to fly home with me. If, that is, they make the short list.

When I flew here, I paid atrocious amounts of baggage fees. Then, I flew home in August with an all-but-empty suitcase and brought back more stuff. Then, there were gifts. And souvenirs. And more gifts. And I do not want to pay more to leave here than I did to come.

Some stuff, of course, can't make the journey: the gifts I brought to give, the coffee I brought to drink, the shampoos and conditioners and whatnot I brought to use. Whenever I think of another thing I've used up here, I get excited. So, too, do I get excited when I realize I can part with something else--those books I brought and read but am not too attached to, those shoes that got ruined from too much use, those clothes which have dwindled thanks to a harsh washing machine and, again, overuse, or which will prove otherwise useless in my home climate.

And, I was at least able to send a few things back with visitors when they came, so that's something. But still, my packing plans call for throwing out as much as I possibly can to avoid a third bag and overweight charges.

Today, I began filling my theoretical third bag with stuff--stuff which will come home, but which I definitely will not need between now and July 11. And so, my mental preparations have become physical. No turning back now--from here on out, it's all boxes and bags.