Busy Busy Busy

I realized I was perhaps a little stressed over packing and heading down for the Festival when I couldn't find the power cord to my portable DVD player and ended up crying, half underneath my bed, head resting against a dusty board game box.  (I finally found it!  It was downstairs.)  But I think I needed a little cry; I'm big on catharsis, so it worked out.

I hate packing, though.  All my shit's strewn all over the house and I can never remember where I put that one thing that I will definitely need even though I secretly know I will never get it out of my suitcase.  This afternoon, for ten minutes, that thing was my book light.  What if I want to read in the hotel room!  But my eyes hurt and I don't want the lamp on!  What then!  Speaking of books, I had this kind of existential crisis over which book I'd bring with me to read on the plane.  The book I'm currently reading is a hardcover and will take up a lot of room in my purse.  Should I bring a paperback then?  I don't have any paperbacks checked out from the library.  Should I make a special trip to the library?  No, I'll read an old one.  Which one?  JESUS BRAIN JUST SHUT UP IT DOESN'T MATTER DON'T MAKE ME COME UP THERE.  Turns out I should have made a special trip to the library because the Farscape disc I checked out?  They didn't unlock the case so I can't watch it.  Sheesh.

I'm just glad that I lived in Austin for two years, so if I end up forgetting something I won't have to worry about finding a Walmart or a CVS or whatever.  I hate driving around strange cities looking for a place to buy, say, contact solution or PJs or Advil or a pair of shoes.  (None of these would be things I've forgotten to pack in the past, nosiree.) 

I think when I finish up tonight, I will make myself a Scotch.