I hate getting ready to go away. I love the actual holiday or vacation but that time before I go always seem catch me by surprise. I know I could have filled my car, gone to the bank and gotten that darn birthday card days ago but once again a book called my name. I used to think I would outgrow that ability to put everything else aside for the feel of a crisp page and a new world to explore. It never happened. It isn't that I lack discipline. I have lots of discipline at work. My children grew up with a love of books, art, theater and music and a tremendous tolerance for dustballs, unmade beds and laundry piles.
So here I am writing my blog, looking longingly at my book while all the time knowing I still have packing and planning to do. Maybe I could wait until morning. . . Maybe if I started out 1/2 hour later .. .. I forgot the cat pan needs to be cleaned. They probably won't wait until I get back Sunday night. Merry has a bad habit of using the bathtub when the cat pan doesn't meet his high standards for cleanliness. I still haven't learned how to use my new camera since I've only had it a month. I could do that on the plane except I'll probably be reading.
I see a pattern emerging here. The issue isn't really the preparation to leave it is MY ADDICTION TO READING. As addictions go, that is a pretty mild one. Just a page of two wouldn't be a problem. And somehow I do always manage to get where I'm going.