they sell hearts in provo.

I am sitting in a mound of detritus, trying to decide how many t-shirts I am going to allow myself, hoping that I am going to be able to fit books somewhere into this sad picture of packing me into a suitcase. When did I acquire so much stuff? Why is it so hard for me to pack without getting super, super distracted?

I have a feeling I am going to be packing early tomorrow morning, hoping that the frenzy of having to be done will make some of these decisions easier. But I also have to get rid of a futon bed and a black side table, and get to Oakland with this monolith of a suitcase, so that would constitute incredibly poor planning.

Blah. I hate packing. I'm looking forward to being done, though, because it means that I will have simplified, and isn't that what Thoreau wanted?

The last time I traveled with this suitcase, it was through the London underground, and I had way more strapped to my back and another bag on top of the suitcase. This is going to be way easier. That's going to have to be my mantra.

Okay, back to the grind.