Packing is for pussies

I've had too much fun these last few days to really get choked up. I've lunched with friends, gone to incredible parties in my honor, and spent quality time with my family. I see this move as a beginning, not an end. And before I disgorge any more schmaltzy "I'm-leaving-with-a-brave-face" sentiments, let me say that I'm a giant ball of nerves. Not because I'm scared. Not because I'm sad. But because I haven't packed, and I leave in nine hours. If procrastination is the mark of a great man, then I'm bound for sainthood (although I doubt anyone has ever viewed proscrastination as a desirable attribute). So instead of packing, I'm going to blog.

After several days of avoiding the pratfalls of getting choked up, I came up to my room after my siblings (and sibling-in-law and nephew) went to their respective houses after saying goodbyes. On my bed was a card and a candle from my eldest sister. Without divulging the contents of the card, it had me sobbing as if I'd just watched the end of My Dog Skip. I reminisced and waxed nostalgic for a few minutes. Then I put on Christina Aguilera's Fighter and decided to get down to business. Then I decided the prospect of packing was altogether loathesome.

But I must persevere. In a city that thrives on blind ambition and dedication, I'll be lost if I can't even talk myself into packing a few boxes. So this is my goodbye until I've gotten settled (approximately one week, give or take). Regardless of how long you wait until my next entry, I promise it will be written in the great city of LOS ANGELES!!!