As I sit here looking at my suitcase, I realize I don’t know shit about traveling or packing. In the great, over romanticized, old days, I would pack one extra pair of underwear, condoms and breathe mints. All of that would fit into my pockets. Those were simple times. I had simple needs.
My thought process (even with the happy pills) is enough to make me not want to go anywhere. Shoes on the bottom. Which shoes? I dunno. So, I pack fuck me pumps and flats. I wear flip flops. I feel that all bases covered in the foot department. Then I think, why fuck me pumps? Crap. If I pack fmp’s then I need to pack something nice. Crap. If I pack something nice then i have to pack spanks. If I pack spanks then I can’t let him know I wear spanks because then I’m admitting to myself, him and the world that I need them. Fucking shoes. By this time, my anxiety level is so high that I can’t breathe.
After five minutes with a cold pack on the back of my neck, I resume breathing. Clothes are next. Simple. Black. All of it. Nope. Which black. OK. The black skirt, the fucking spanx, black top. What next? I dunno. Regular clothes? What the fuck. I have work clothes and clothes I don’t wear with any underwear and not much in between. So I pack everything I own. Seems like the only answer. I check my handy work and scream, I HATE MY CLOTHES!!!! Why am I leaving my house?
After 20 minutes of me cursing, my clothes, my Panza ass, my sweet tooth and all existence, I move on to make up. Simple enough. I don’t need much. My face is good.
Lies. All lies. Concealer, eyelash curler, eyeliner, mascara, eyelash brush (for clumps, God forbid), blush, and assorted brushes, and lip gloss provide me with the oh no, I’m not wearing make up look. More lies.
Next we move onto hair. Dear sweet Baby Jesus. How will I want to wear my hair for the next five days? Curly. OK. Shampoo, moisture masque conditioner, curling cream, anti frizz spray, wide toothed comb, bobby pins( for the bangs), and curl rejuvenating spray. What if I want I want to wear it straight? Shit. Three day straight spray, straightening cream, small comb, heat protecting cream, blow dryer, hair clip, spray bottle, flat iron. Thankfully, the shampoo and moisture masque apply to my ever changing hair mood.
My medications are next. Heartburn meds, industrial strength pain meds, giant quantities of calm down/happy meds, and vitamins. Done. Toothbrush, and other essentials. Done. Closing the suitcase takes a few tries and select cursing. It gets done. Then I have to get it down the stairs. I basically just push it down. It lands with a crash. I put it up right. I wait for 3b.
Mind you I have skipped over the drama of packing my girl and getting the beast to the farm. I am exhausted. I am defeated.
3b gets to my house, grabs the suitcase, curses and asks me if I think I packed enough. I fight the urge to choke him.
