My Mumbling Thoughts

My advice to anyone who plans on moving ever in their lifetime: don't. What's wrong with staying put in one place for all eternity? I am kind of growing to the fact that perhaps I was wrong all along. Maybe living in the same place all your life isn't such a terrible idea. I've come to this conclusion, because I've just now started to pack my things up in the flat, and can I just say, MISSION.

Since I'm jobless once again and waiting around for Simon (I hate waiting Simon!) I figured it couldn't hurt for me to climb out of bed and start getting some things done around the flat that have been looking at me ever since I came home and propped my feet up on the coffee table with a big plate of chocolate chip cookies. I have to pack. Everything. And if it doesn't get packed away, I need to throw it out or donate it to a charity shop. It must all go somewhere.

But packing is such a daunting and tedious task. It's so difficult and hard and laborious. It's so much easier for me to just sit down and finish eating my chicken alfredo that I made the night before. That sounds far more appealing.

I am forcing myself to sift through all of my crap though, and harshly decide if I really need my t-shirt that says, "I'm Rick James bitch!" on it, or if it's just a want. I mean, I never wear the thing. Not even as a night shirt. I think I just have it as a novelty tee. Still, it's hard for me to give away something that just means so much.

I've always known that I'm a pack rat, but honestly, how did it get to the point where I owned so much shit? I came to London with three suitcases, a shoulder bag and a book-bag. Now I can barely fit one-fourth of my belongings into the same suitcases and bags. I filled an entire suitcase today with HALF of the clothes just from my drawers and it's still halfway full of clothes I left that I know I wear practically every week, and all of my underwear. And that's something I'll never have to worry about -- underwear. I have at least fifty taking up space in my top drawer!

I suppose Momma and Mel have sent me quite a few boxes, but most of that was food that I love and can't do without, or books and magazines. I hate to say it, but I've bought a lot of useless crap. Who needs three purses from Primark? Sure, they were only £4, but now I have no place to put them. Or all of my shoes. Christ! My shoes!

And as I'm going through all of it, I think, yeah, I can pack that. I never use it anyway.

What is that?! Why do I have something where I can actually think that?

I suppose the only good thing is that it's all getting done now when I actually have the time to sort through it all. We officially move out on the nineteenth, and I think this might be the first place that I've ever lived where I'm not going to miss it one bit. I hate this place. It's disgusting and no matter how much I clean it, it remains in a filthy state. I hate the chav children that scream at all hours of the day. It always smells like trash. There are bugs everywhere. It's just shit. It holds far more negative memories for me than good, and on my last day here I will not be crying or feel a small twinge of sadness. I will probably be leaping in the air with joy. I can't wait to move back on campus, be a Lee House Girl and not have to worry about all of the shit that we put up with round here.

I do have a temporary guest as well for forty-eight hours. Carlene's younger sister, Sonya, is down to do some things with the American embassy and yadda, yadda, yadda. I don't know what it's all about, but she needed a place to crash while she was getting it all sorted. I didn't mind so long as Carlene wasn't coming down with her. We still haven't spoken since we fell out, and I guess it's mostly my fault, because while she has made an effort to speak to me (a couple of messages on facebook), I earnestly ignore her and will message her when I need to.

I must say, it's strange to have another person in the flat. Somebody that I don't really know either. I didn't exactly put that much thought into preparing for her arrival. She should be happy that I even had clothes on, since I've gotten way too comfortable with roaming around here half-naked. I've realized that being alone in the flat for long periods of time makes me extremely lazy. I mean, who's going to really care? I'm alone!

Not so much anymore, and now I feel like I should do something; I'm not sure what. Perhaps hang out with her? Make conversation? Mostly I just want to say, "hey, can't you see that I'm reading in my underwear? Go entertain yourself!"

And this is why I'm going to make an awesome floor rep.