OK, so I'm finally getting out of this godforsaken city on monday. However, with moving comes packing, and packing is the fucking worst. Not just because its laborious and boring, but moreso because I'm quick to attach sentimentality to things, and I have a really hard time throwing stuff out.
I am quasi-obsessed with order, however, I am also a hard-drinker. I am therefore either making a mess or cleaning one up. This leads to many posessions being crammed away into the little cubbyholes, closets and crevaces that make up my weird little blue apartment.
Anyhoo, back to the sentimentality thing...I keep coming across little keepsakes of my years in Philadelphia, and the reality that I'm leaving is sinking in. I want to leave, I need to leave, but still... How come my drawers are filled with funny bears and silly hats reminding me of our best times. Why can't I find more spent coke bags and bloody shirts to remind me why California calls.
I am quasi-obsessed with order, however, I am also a hard-drinker. I am therefore either making a mess or cleaning one up. This leads to many posessions being crammed away into the little cubbyholes, closets and crevaces that make up my weird little blue apartment.
Anyhoo, back to the sentimentality thing...I keep coming across little keepsakes of my years in Philadelphia, and the reality that I'm leaving is sinking in. I want to leave, I need to leave, but still... How come my drawers are filled with funny bears and silly hats reminding me of our best times. Why can't I find more spent coke bags and bloody shirts to remind me why California calls.
little baggies blow away; bloody shirts end up in rag drawers.
what part of califas?
wouldn't want to get on your bad side...u a scorpio?