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Dreadful Nonsense

"I've read your blog. it's really funny. you should write a column." - Jon Ronson

Packing plans are afoot, and not before time, since it seems to have only occurred to me that moving takes place on Sunday – which is now THIS Sunday, not just a theoretical Sunday in the long and distant future, like it has been up until now. Packing plans, though, mark you. Not actual packing. That I thought could wait until the middle of the week, so that I wasn’t going mental and packing a month in advance and then living out to suitcases in my own home.

But now I’ve gone the opposite direction. I had thought I could start packing on Wednesday, all leisurely like, doing washing as I went along and sorting through things at a measured rate. But then I realised the football to end all football happens on Wednesday, so that’s no good. Thursday, then, would be a fine time to start with the packing, the folding, the sorting, the washing, the general sorting out – oh yes. Though. With the meeting people for lunch, and then working, and then the meeting further people for dinner. People insist on saying goodbye to me, you see.

So okay, the Friday. It’s a bit late, but it’s better late than Saturday. Oh. But. Yes. With the lunch with the girls from work, and then the work, and then the meeting people after work for dinner and drinks, with the goodbyes and the hugging. Oh, the goodbyes. Dammit.

So packing. Begins and ends. On Saturday. That’s just stupid. For someone who has spent since the moment of deciding to move to London planning the move to London moment by moment, making lists and buying new things and throwing away old things and sorting through notebooks and books and dvds and cds and making decisions about to bring and what not to bring and now although I know what I’m taking, none of those things are boxed up, folded, washed, packed, piled or even taken off shelves and thrown on to the bed.

Madness. Utter madness.

Example of how my head is this week: Yesterday, I bought clothes in which to make good impressions with job interview style people for next week. I bought a white shirt, which is great and presentable, and (I only realised this morning when I put it on in day light rather than shop-changing-room light) totally see-through. Thankfully, I also bought respectable bra to wear under respectable but see-through shirt, so that I can preserve some dignity. Was sorting through shopping last night at work, putting things from three bags in to one bag in order to carry it all easier on the Luas. And it was only when I was half way to meeting Little Sister Edel that I realised I’d left my new mumsy bra sitting slap dash in the middle of someone else’s desk.

I left my underwear at work.

The rest of this week will probably follow the same pattern. Hoorah.


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