Getting my suitcase out of the 30th floor storage unit requires not just a trip upstairs, but a trip downstairs to get the key from the front desk, then the trip upstairs on the freight elevator (the only one that goes up that far), down a creepy, cold hallway lined with rickety wooden doors, a fight with a rusty lock on both the way in and the way out and then the trip back down to return the key. I did the suitcase obtaining routine about two hours ago, and I still haven’t started packing. I keep planning on starting, but then find another task (like blogging) to keep me busy. I have come over to my computer twice, thinking I would shut it down and pack it up, only to sit down, check my email and start reading blogs.

But I’m an organized girl who can pack quickly and efficiently. My sister starts packing five days before she goes on a trip, where I’ve never packed more than 18 hours before my flight. I’ve always said that this is because I know where all my stuff is, so I don’t have to spend days looking for it. But it’s also because I have a deeply procrastinationistic nature. But enough. Time to stop stalling, stop avoiding. I must now rip myself away from the computer to go fill my suitcase with clothing. Because I don’t think I’m going to get through security naked, despite the ease in screening that might cause.