Boston is currently fifty-five degrees, but it feels like forty-nine. Cords are back in the suitcase. I am neurotic.
by krisis
thoughts
Okay, i can cut the cordouroys from the packing schedule, but they also bump a potential outfit which eliminates one of the layering shirts. Cords are cold-weather clothes on me anyhow. Next, my blue UnionBay pants double as pajamas (plus ihave the backup shorts), so i can cut my flannel pajamas and just go with hospital scrubs. So, i eliminated about two inches of packing from my bag, which barely makes it lighter (considering i have to bring my BLAW book with me) and doesn’t really save any room. Does that mean i put the stuff back in just to be better prepared, or leave it out just for the sake of packing efficiently? Did i mention i can’t find my blogger.com shirt? How can i do this without a blogger.com shirt?
Apparently asking to have one shirt and one pair of pants dry cleaned in the span of five hours is entirely impossible short of slipping c-notes through the drop-slot along with the pants (which reminds me, i didn’t check the pockets for cash…).
So, i am still not packed. I never pack until the last minute, really, so actually having picked out the clothes i want to take with me and laundering them seems to be a huge step in the right direction if you don’t count against me that i just gave my favourite three pairs of pants to the dry-cleaner who will guard them safely behind bullet-proof glass until Wednesday. That’s three less things for me to pack, i suppose…
Okay, so, that’s how my hair is supposed to look. What it actually looks like is… um… frosted cherry nail polish. However, my webcam doesn’t seem capable of picking up the subtle (highly metallic) nuances of frosted cherry, so instead it displays the color i meant to get my hair dyed to. Isn’t it ironic? Yeah, i really do think. Apparently i left the dye in about an hour too long after leaving the Chop Shop (i decided to walk home, it was pretty outside, i screamed along to Weezer on the way).
Nothing cures a bout of depression like a violent haircut and $40 worth of imported cd singles, that’s for sure.
Which would you rather do? : Blithely inform your mother that you want to see a psychiatrist about potential clinical depression or Blithely ignore your mother as she examines your roommates pipe and asks what she uses it to smoke.
Well, i’m a lucky little fuck, cause i got to do both today.