Six hours. Two laundry hampers full for donation. One large bag to be stored or possibly sent to wherever, who knows when. One overflowing suitcase, not yet weighed for the plane.
Today was such a bitch. I hate having to pack, you don't know what you really want until you get to a place. When I arrived in Australia, I had three pairs of shorts, zero skirts, and four dresses. I brought mostly jeans and tee shirts, yet no one told me and I suppose I had little way of really knowing that if you wear a t-shirt and jeans in Queensland, your clothing will stick to you and you will be miserable and lose full rotation of your limbs. It's that hot and sticky here. ugh. So basically you must wear shorts and singlets (tank tops, tank tops! Being here I now find some of our American terms quite silly, like our pronunciation of "herbs." "It's not 'erbs," they tell me, it's Herbs! Do you call a Horse an 'orse?'" Ah, but this is another post entirely).
It's so strange though, I feel like I can deal with just the bare essentials now, because I have discovered my idiotic former packing skills. What I found necessary to bring to Australia when I arrived, what came with me within the allowed baggage weight, and because of my transient circumstances here in Oz, what has stayed mainly in my suitcase are:
- 2 Matryoshka dolls.
I really thought they would come in handy. They are an adorable waste of space.
- A stapler.
Here for school, I have papers to write... but OH, they fucking cost $3 and they have them all over the place at uni anyways. Did I think I wouldn't find an orange one here in Australia?
- A faux furry hat with ear flaps. And mittens. And 4 scarves.
One wonders if I did indeed ever check a weather report before coming here. Even at the coldest point here, I wore one scarf the whole time and not once did I even glance at the other items.
- A TI-89 calculator.
Perhaps I felt the need to bring it because who knows, I may have needed it, and it was like $100. I put it in Ziploc bag to bring over here. I never once opened the Ziploc bag.
- Lots of condoms.
Didn't end up needing those too often!
When people ask me about going back to America, I feel really strange. I hate talking about it, I hate thinking about it. In this past year I have made a life here. A strange, slightly disconnected life with a marked lack of privacy or personal space. Its cliche but I feel like I have learned significantly about what I am capable of in my life here. Figuring everything that moving to the other side of the globe entails, sifting through all the new people, and just recognising sides of my self image and so so so much more.
Its a bit past midnight now, which means I only have eight days left in this beautiful country. People ask when I am coming home, but I feel like I am leaving my home. I am going for a two-week visit to the house I lived in for 3 years with my parents, then on to Humboldt where I lived for a few years but have no new place to live as of yet. The only home I have known so far is what I have imagined out of the place I have inhabited. No amount of possessions can ever make up for the feeling of the complete loneliness of having not one familiar soul near. No street address can create the relief you get from walking down the block and knowing from the cracks in the sidewalk to the smell (that strange one that wafts in the same spot from the sewer so you know automatically every time you walk by when to start breathing through your mouth) to those faces, whether you have met them and whether they are friendly or not, and to all those other things that let you know exactly where you are.
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