Currently listening to: “Opheliac” – Emilie Autumn
*Incoming first-years, this is a fine example of how not to pack. This is also a fine example of digressing from one topic to another.
I’m moving on campus this upcoming Sunday, and the packing process is a just a tad like the aftermath of the French Revolution at the moment – messy, complicated, and with the potential for murderous acts of frustration. My kitchen supplies at the moment are lying in a pile, and they number the following: one green rubber spatula, two glasses, three kitschy mugs, three shotglasses, and a pile of vintage coasters. Oh, and a strangely deformed tin, with which I have no idea what to do. The growing need to look into acquiring pots, pans, and (proper) tins for cooking and baking (!) is starting to nag at me.
Currently, I am also contemplating which coffeetable books shall be moving into Gage with me. Confirmed items are the Spring Awakening pictorials, and the re-print of original Howl manuscript; aside from that, we shall just have to see how the Patron Saint of Rubbish Packing decides to meddle. Maybe the West Wing pictorial, if we have any room left after Larry the travelling gnome is packed…
This is Larry, chilling in Montréal.
Because, obviously, literature and tacky dollar-store gnomes are more important than other life necessities, which still need to be considered and placed into packing boxes. I can’t imagine moving from abroad, or out-of-province: right now, the thought that I can simply bus home and pick up things I’ve forgotten is keeping me sane and happy.
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So has your Committee of Public Safety taken the helm in this chaotic situation? And yes, it is indeed a luxury, your ability to simply ride the bus if some missing item is evidenced; this is not the case for everyone, especially those in greater disarray than yourself (a certain writer must wince at this statement).
No, my Committee of Public Safety has been smote by the Patron Saint of Rubbish Packing. Archangels and their smiting undesirable folk and whatnot, you know? Gets meddlesome, but what can you do? Aside from take the bus, that is…
D’oh! I failed to spot the French Club at Imagine! Hopefully see you at Clubs Day?
It was enjoyable to make your acquaintance last afternoon. I must apologize, however, as the epic marathon that was imagine day had sapped much of my (usually) abundant energy, leaving me an asocial husk of my gregarious self. On another occasion I shall endeavor to provide (hopefully) stimulating conversation (I would offer scintillating repartee, though I fear that I cannot promise such).
To Eastwood: I still desire to meet you, perhaps at this “clubs day”?