Guess what I'm doing now?

Packing to go. Yay.

I fucking HATE to pack.

I hate it with the intensity of a thousand burning suns concentrated down to the size of a period on the end of a sentence and transformed into a sizzling little zit on your upper lip that everyone will think is something else.

You see, the advantage of a car is that I can pack the CRAP out of it. Anything, everything and as much of it as I please and no one will tell me my bags are too big, x-ray my shoes or scan the space between my nuts for radioactive lint.

Now I'm trying to get things to fit in a garment and a carry-on bag.

Carry-on? Have you seen the size of a regulation carry-on these days? I've seen larger 12-pack coolers. I have a couple in fact.

But right now, I have 7 pairs of socks and undies, a pair of jeans, three pairs of shorts, three workout tops and a T-shirt stuffed in a bag that small. I'm actually prouda me.

What I fear the most about packing is leaving behind something critically important. I used to do it all the freakin' time on weekend jaunts to Chicago as a kid. EVERY SINGLE TIME without exception.

Then I hate my clothes, too. Those Detroit relatives are always up-to-the-minute with at least three fashion labels I haven't heard of yet. I'm just a simple country bumpkin.

At least I kicked some serious ass at work today. By noon I should have a week's worth of work already in the hopper. Then I can concentrate on cleaning up the little things on my desk.

Well, off to bed for now. I have a full day to think of the items I've forgotten.