I'm leaving on a jet plane!

Everyone I know is packing today.

It's actually kind of fun. I can wander into any one of my friend's rooms and scream the words "I FUCKING HATE PACKING," and they will understand me with the deepest depths of their souls. Because they, too, fucking hate packing.

This is another one of the myriad ways that going to school so far away sucks. Not only is it pretty near impossible to see my family with any sort of frequency, but getting shit back and forth from Chicago to DC is SUCH a pain in the ass! I see parents helping their kids move out, loading things into cars and driving away--cramped, maybe, but much, much more flexible--and I want to hijack the cars. Hey, I have a passable sense of direction (that is a lie). I could probably find my way back to DC in a car (also a lie. I would be killed and eaten by hill-people).

But car or no car, packing sucks. For me, it's basically the way I am forced to admit to myself that my life is made up of two behemoth suitcases, a backpack, and a mini-fridge that is possibly older than I am. And then all that extra crap that I am currently tearing my hair out over fitting into my bags (how did I get TWO toy llamas? Where the hell do I put this goblet? WHAT IS MY LIFE?)

There are, of course, ways to make packing less awful. Most of them involve alcohol, and I'm not brave enough to attempt drunk packing. I'd probably end up decorating my room with underwear and keeping only one out of every pair of shoes to save space.

No, I'm keeping my sanity by doing what I'm best at--mainlining television shows. Old episodes of "Bones," to be specific. Gotta love that Netflix instant-play. But the problem is that television can incapacitate me as much as alcohol. I just caught myself taking things OUT of my suitcase and putting them in my drawers because I was distracted by Zack (oh no, Zack!) That is not how packing works. That is the opposite of how packing works.

Or I could kill time by doing what I'm doing right now: messing around on the computer while surrounded by suitcases instead of thinking about what I'm supposed to do with all my hangars (I'm thinking a modern-art sculpture, but that might be the "Bones" talking).