It was procrastination at it’s finest. I dreaded it for weeks. I’d wake from a sleepy slumber and it’d be staring at me expectantly. It was a suitcase…and it was empty.
Let me start off by telling you packing is the bane of my existence. I had just moved out of my apartment in Columbia and after a day full of filling boxes with decor and the feeling the occasional twinge of nostalgia, I was back in St. Louis. What had once been a living room, was now it was a sea of boxes. With an overflowing closet….er..sea of boxes.. back home, the thought of fitting two months of fashion-greatness into a 3 ft. X 2 ft. suitcase was enough to bring me close to a full-on anxiety attack. I could only bring SIX PAIRS OF SHOES? It was a crisis, indeed.
After reminding myself New York City has some of the best shopping in the country, I got to work and started packing for the second time in a week. Instead of folding, I meticulously rolled each of my tops, jeans, and dresses to take up the least amount of space. Stuffing it to the brim, I zipped up the first suitcase. It didn’t stay zipped, though. Throughout the day, I’d find a different top, a different dress that I’d want to bring and was forced to switch it for one already packed. After a day of indecisiveness, I finally got a full night of sleep.
Just kidding. I couldn’t sleep a wink; I’d be in the Big Apple the next day.