I'm moving all of my things back little by little, slowly but surely to my parents house.

Teapots shoved into woven bags that are meant to hold pieces of string, tins filled with beads, old school bags filled with crystals, shoeboxes filled with books...

I look forward to returning in some months time to open handbags that have my grandmother's old watches in them, and putting fingers in gloves only to discover that i have stuffed little figurines down the parts where the fingers go.

Moving is exhausting. Remembering what box or bag holds what things, organising space to put all of your earthly possessions, gathering the physical energy of actually lifting, carrying and setting down of things.

Emotionally, this move is cleansing...it reminds me that a huge adventure lies before me and that this, moving is one of the first steps I have take to get there. The higgledy-piggledy manner in which I've managed to move all of my things signifies to me the urgency in which I need to leave..."ok, just put this in here and that in there, cross our fingers that nothing breaks and hope for the best...I've gotta go catch a plane".

The way that I'm packing for travel though is extremely meticulous. Meticulous to the point that I have done two preliminary packs, listed the specific items of clothing that I am to take (ie. yellow and brown tie-dye skirt) and am now down to the stage where I am trying to save as many inches as I can within my backpack in a manner which suggests that my life may depend on it.

Its an odd bod funny little time right now that I'm having and I'm finding it hard to organise myself. I keep putting things off, making more projects...On Wednesday I start to build a cubby. Nothing more to be said.