Clothes are scattered over beds
And tops of doors, spilling from
The bulging cases, filled with shorts
And T-shirts never worn in normal life.
And all for what? You’ll only wear a half
Of everything you pack, and rushing out the door
You won’t pick up that second bag,
Remembering it’s on the kitchen floor,
In traffic on the M6 Toll, no turning back,
So probably best to just not stress
And throw in anything that comes to hand,
A hat, a suit or even your old wedding dress.
We are going on holiday on Sunday and it doesn’t matter that it’s only a road trip up to the Lakes; it’s still stressing me out. The packing is one thing and then it is followed by a whole string of other things you didn’t plan for.
First, the person who was supposed to look after the cat can’t do it. Then I get stung by a wasp and my arm has swollen up so I may need to get a doctor’s appointment because it’s looking more and more infected. Then, the college Noah should be going to said that enrollment is next week and if he doesn’t turn up, he may not get the courses he wants to do.
It’s one thing after another and it always leaves you thinking that going away and leaving your normal life behind is actually a bit too stressful. Maybe I should just cancel all future holidays so I never have to put up with this again?