So much for the cunning plan.

There's an art to packing and moving.

Basically, it involves planning out what you need to to and breaking everything down into small stages. Ideally, you'd take a room a day and pace yourself, making sure that everything had a place and that you carefully considered what needed to be where. Then nothing would be a rush and everything would have a place. There would be no last minute panics, no frantic rushes.

It's a good plan, and it would probably have worked, except that having made my plan I then ignored it.

Never do this.

So now I'm panicking a bit. Not much, because I have a whole day tomorrow for things to happen in, so it's not too bad. Yet. But because I am now blogging instead of working I think I might be in a bit of denial about what needs to happen next.

I thought blogging this might be a nice little break while I rally the troops once more to have another crack at sorting out the bedroom and living room - which, really are the two remaining places to deal with.

I fly on Wednesday. That's the day after tomorrow, and tomorrow all my stuff goes away (yikes) and the stuff that isn't going away or coming with me is garbage. There's quite a lot of it, and it is mostly actual garbage. Why have I kept so many boxes? What was the attraction in hording all these plastic bags? Whatever the reason, I think they're becoming packing material and that works quite well. I have some fragile stuff to carry with me.

The other big issue is: 50lbs per bag. It's not really very much, is it? I worry that I might have to shed some items, although to be fair I have tried to send the heavy stuff on ahead. There are issues, though, and these I have to resolve tonight.

Now, in fact.

Which is why I'm here at the keyboard, using writing as an excuse to not deal with real life much as I sometimes use real life as an excuse not to deal with writing.

Ah well. Back to work. I shall blog at you once more from England.