The tip of the iceberg.
Admittedly, I do like to stir the pot, but it still amuses me every time I do it when I don't mean to do it. Long story, but let's say that my fake date which didn't end up occurring with my friend's fake boyfriend (everyone has one now, it's the thing to do, you see) has resulted in fast-spreading gossip (and we're out of school now!) where my friend's fake boyfriend is dating several girls, all of whom seem to be me.
Confused? Heeheehee. It's only amusing if you're in on the joke, you know.
Anyway, those messes above? PACKING. I HATE PACKING. There are very few things I hate more than packing. Mosquito bites of death, perhaps. Being stuck outside in Boston right now without AC too. And not getting fed on a regular basis. But not much more. Packing bring out my best procrastination skills. On the left, you have the shoes I'm bringing home with me because I have determined that I probably won't get around to wearing them in the next two months. I have double that amount at home which fuckhead brought home for me last summer because I figured I wouldn't wear this year, and I have a fair number left in my closet here in case I feel like wearing them at some point this summer. Imelda might be my middle name. And on the right are all my formal skirts and dresses (and my white coat, which will NEVER be worn again, yay!), rolled up because who knows when I'm going to get the chance to unpack them and they'll be less wrinkly this way, right?
I haven't even gotten to purses yet. Or winter coats. Or regular every day skirts. Or socks. WHY do I have so many socks?
Good thing I have 2 more months in which to pack up 7 years of an East coast life.
Note: the furniture? That's all my roommate's stuff. I'm telling you, I live in a grandma-inspired mausoleum.
And I'm off to LA for the Fourth of July! See y'all from a much happier coast!