This past weekend was spent in the spirit of relaxation and what have you, as I was treated to a spa weekend by my future sisters in law.
Now I'm not a big fan of walking around in swimwear.
This is especially true if there are other people sort of hanging out in the same area where I'm swimwearing, which there often are at say, beaches and spas.
If added to that, these people are also my future in laws, that makes for some serious feelings of discomfort on my behalf.
This discomfort can be somewhat eased by submerging one's body in a pool, or by sitting in a very steamy aroma oil scented steam room, or just by having a few drinks before even getting in the car in the first place (only one of the many perks of not being expected to drive).
Or, if anticipating some serious discomfort, all of the above.
Having tgone fore the last option, I found that lounging around in my swimwear with people soon to be integrated in my family tree is actually not that big of a deal.
Today's effort on the other hand, will not really be eased by any of previously mentioned tactics. You see, I have one (half) day of trying to do all my laundry, clean and pack before going to New Zealand. An effort which can only be described by one word:
I absolutely loathe packing.
It's what my idea of hell is.
Packing, re-packing, taking things out, putting things back in...
Ok, so I guess that sounds a lot less painful than it really is but knowing me I will be on the verge of crying more than once, behaving like a 5-year old and making threatening phone calls to fiancé, all while procrastinating like it is going out of style. Yet somehow, I will pull it together in time to be able to get on that plane and fly all the way to New Zealand where hopefully I will still be engaged.
Wish me luck.
the hard stuff
13 hours ago