I hate packing.
There I said it. Sadly, it doesn’t hold a lot of merit because I say it all the time.
I’m an awful packer. I take forever – stare at my suitcase, with my eyes and beg it to load itself. I put on music to entertain myself and find I drift off singing along.
Two hours later?
You’re right, the suitcase isn’t close to its finished line.
I’m not sure why there’s a problem. I’ve packed hundreds (yes, slight exaggeration) of suitcases – should be a pro. Yes, I ought to be a pro. People should pay me to pack their suitcases. I should be the master of packing.
But I’m not and I don’t care to be a master at anything.
Perhaps, if I were smarter I’d make a ‘How to…’ about packing, but it’s really a no brainer. If you don’t know how to pack maybe you’re not meant to be a traveler?
Then I ought not to be one. But I am.
I just hate packing.