![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
exploits in packing
Apr. 23rd, 2008 08:31 pmTomorrow morning we leave for Merlefest, and I am in fact excited. Not giddy-excited, and my stomach isn't twisting up in delighted little knots the way it used to, but: anticipatory! This is progress. (YOU GUYS, SOLAAAS. *flails* Er, sorry.)
I think I've nearly finished straightening the bedroom, though it is in dire need of a good vacuuming. Actually I'd just like to get rid of the carpet altogether, but there's so much furniture on top of it. If I ever get round to painting, well...then, I suppose. I've moved the armchair to a corner instead of stuffed between the dressers over the outlet where it isn't doing much good at all, finally mounted my mirror after three or four months, made the bed, cleared off the trunk in front of the window so that I can actually sit on it again, washed all of my clothes and put most of them away, cleared off my (horrid nasty ugly stupid pink-flowered) desk (seriously, I cannot wait until my mother gets a nice desk and hands her old one off to me, or we find a desk at a yard sale, or something; my desk was handed down to me, it's made to fit a twelve-year-old, and HAS GOT PINK FLOWERS AND A PINK SWIVEL CHAIR, AND I HATE IT, but it is in fact a desk, and just now I haven't anyplace else to put the things it houses), and finally got rid of some of the boxes of rubbish that have been sitting round collecting items as I've cleaned. The room is now strangely bright. I celebrated by reading Emily's Quest and Sunshine in between times, and making up a great batch of chocolate chip cookies which to bring to Merlefest. (Guys, I'm realising that Emily's Quest is not only the hardest to read of pretty much all of L.M. Montgomery's novels, but it cuts a little too close for comfort, despite how much I love it. Emily's depression is far too similar to my own, although I am thoroughly free of romantic difficulties, which I reckon is a boon. Also, EMILY/DEAN = BUFFY/SPIKE. SERIOUSLY. WITHOUT THE, UH, YOU KNOW. THE PARALLEL IS FAR TOO WEIRD TO IGNORE. *waits for probably only one person on her entire f-list to get this at all*)
So, I'm packing, which is always fun, because it is what I do the day before I leave, by and large. Also I bring too many shoes, oh dear. I'm afraid -- that I rather madly adore shoes. I know, I know. But an appropriately awesome pair of shoes adds much character to an outfit! (If I knew where my camera cord was, I'd take pictures of my shoes for you lot, so you can see some of the more ridiculous ones: turquoise-and-orange plaid heels! burgundy high-heeled boots with pink ribbons up the sides! sage-green flat soft boots with buckles! very gothy high-heeled Victorian lace-up boots! blue-and-green tweed heels! burgundy Marie Antoinette-esque shoes with sheer black ribbon laces! -- all of these courtesy of Goodwill, else I'd never be able to justify the cost.) Oh dear, and deciding which shoes to take with me -- Banui you are a silly girl entirely. Converses, of course, because they go with everything and are comfortable, sage-green buckle boots, because they are also comfortable, and flat (rather necessary for folk music festivals, which involve a) a lot of walking and b) a lot of grass), and possibly a pair of wedge-heeled sandals, and oh dear. Then there are hats, and skirts that are flowy, and all in all I'm sure I've packed far more clothing than I can use, but strangely enough my bag is Bigger On The Inside. I'm not entirely certain why or how but it fits a great deal more than it ought to be able to fit. Which is nice because I needed room for scarves. (The books go in my satchel, which stays by my side. I'm hardly going to put the books somewhere I can't get at them whilst in the car. There are a lot of those, too.)
This afternoon, while I was lying in a puddle of light on the bed happily reading Sunshine, a thunderstorm decided to brew, and the whole world suddenly got very rich and dark, and the green things somehow more vividly green. I put on Patrick Wolf's Wind in the Wires, because there is no better soundtrack for a thunderstorm, and had some cookies, and it was gorgeous, though not nearly as large and magnificent as I'd hoped -- quite a lot of ominous rolling of thunder and splashings of rain and whistling of wind and occasional flickers of lightning, but no downpour or proper storminess for all that. My curtains blew very picturesquely about, however.
Well, anyway. Leaving tomorrow morning, am probably staying up late simply so that I will sleep a lot in the car (it's an eight hour drive to North Carolina), shall be back Monday, sunburnt, sore-footed, and hopefully overwhelmed with musical delight. Ta!
I think I've nearly finished straightening the bedroom, though it is in dire need of a good vacuuming. Actually I'd just like to get rid of the carpet altogether, but there's so much furniture on top of it. If I ever get round to painting, well...then, I suppose. I've moved the armchair to a corner instead of stuffed between the dressers over the outlet where it isn't doing much good at all, finally mounted my mirror after three or four months, made the bed, cleared off the trunk in front of the window so that I can actually sit on it again, washed all of my clothes and put most of them away, cleared off my (horrid nasty ugly stupid pink-flowered) desk (seriously, I cannot wait until my mother gets a nice desk and hands her old one off to me, or we find a desk at a yard sale, or something; my desk was handed down to me, it's made to fit a twelve-year-old, and HAS GOT PINK FLOWERS AND A PINK SWIVEL CHAIR, AND I HATE IT, but it is in fact a desk, and just now I haven't anyplace else to put the things it houses), and finally got rid of some of the boxes of rubbish that have been sitting round collecting items as I've cleaned. The room is now strangely bright. I celebrated by reading Emily's Quest and Sunshine in between times, and making up a great batch of chocolate chip cookies which to bring to Merlefest. (Guys, I'm realising that Emily's Quest is not only the hardest to read of pretty much all of L.M. Montgomery's novels, but it cuts a little too close for comfort, despite how much I love it. Emily's depression is far too similar to my own, although I am thoroughly free of romantic difficulties, which I reckon is a boon. Also, EMILY/DEAN = BUFFY/SPIKE. SERIOUSLY. WITHOUT THE, UH, YOU KNOW. THE PARALLEL IS FAR TOO WEIRD TO IGNORE. *waits for probably only one person on her entire f-list to get this at all*)
So, I'm packing, which is always fun, because it is what I do the day before I leave, by and large. Also I bring too many shoes, oh dear. I'm afraid -- that I rather madly adore shoes. I know, I know. But an appropriately awesome pair of shoes adds much character to an outfit! (If I knew where my camera cord was, I'd take pictures of my shoes for you lot, so you can see some of the more ridiculous ones: turquoise-and-orange plaid heels! burgundy high-heeled boots with pink ribbons up the sides! sage-green flat soft boots with buckles! very gothy high-heeled Victorian lace-up boots! blue-and-green tweed heels! burgundy Marie Antoinette-esque shoes with sheer black ribbon laces! -- all of these courtesy of Goodwill, else I'd never be able to justify the cost.) Oh dear, and deciding which shoes to take with me -- Banui you are a silly girl entirely. Converses, of course, because they go with everything and are comfortable, sage-green buckle boots, because they are also comfortable, and flat (rather necessary for folk music festivals, which involve a) a lot of walking and b) a lot of grass), and possibly a pair of wedge-heeled sandals, and oh dear. Then there are hats, and skirts that are flowy, and all in all I'm sure I've packed far more clothing than I can use, but strangely enough my bag is Bigger On The Inside. I'm not entirely certain why or how but it fits a great deal more than it ought to be able to fit. Which is nice because I needed room for scarves. (The books go in my satchel, which stays by my side. I'm hardly going to put the books somewhere I can't get at them whilst in the car. There are a lot of those, too.)
This afternoon, while I was lying in a puddle of light on the bed happily reading Sunshine, a thunderstorm decided to brew, and the whole world suddenly got very rich and dark, and the green things somehow more vividly green. I put on Patrick Wolf's Wind in the Wires, because there is no better soundtrack for a thunderstorm, and had some cookies, and it was gorgeous, though not nearly as large and magnificent as I'd hoped -- quite a lot of ominous rolling of thunder and splashings of rain and whistling of wind and occasional flickers of lightning, but no downpour or proper storminess for all that. My curtains blew very picturesquely about, however.
Well, anyway. Leaving tomorrow morning, am probably staying up late simply so that I will sleep a lot in the car (it's an eight hour drive to North Carolina), shall be back Monday, sunburnt, sore-footed, and hopefully overwhelmed with musical delight. Ta!
