I hate packing. I'm never moving again unless I can throw everything into a car and take off. It takes me forever too, because I have to sit there and go through everything and relive all the memories. It's exhausting. This morning I recycled my Representative call book, old drafts of my thesis and took down all my photographs and postcards. Exhausting. Luckily there is a marathon of "House" on tv so I can sit and recuperate--oh, yeah, and they're turning off our TV and internet tomorrow. Durrr. I hate moving. I'm having a packing box delivered on Monday so I can ship it home on Wednesday, so there's not much else I can do right now except sit around and wait for four o'clock to arrive so I can go to the theatre. I took a small (5kg) box of books to the post office yesterday to mail home, but it would have cost me £65, so I brought it home again...I know I have a lot of stuff, but I'm getting rid of an entire garbage bag of clothes as well. Ironically it's mostly the clothes I brought here: they're too big for me now. See, if I could throw everything into a car, I would keep them for when I get up to my fighting weight again, but now they're all going. I'm trying to see it as not getting clingy about personal items, but that doesn't really fly when you consider the only reason I'm jettisoning clothes is so I can bring home Vincent's thousand page biography of Nelson. Well, everyone has priorities. I'm just proud that I haven't bought a matching bio of Lady Hamilton yet.
I'm going to be moving to a flat in Blackheath for three weeks. A friend of a friend, both of whom are theatrical persons, is going to be moving to Bristol to assistant direct up there for a month, so he's letting me have it for cheap. Blackheath is right near Greenwich. I'm so happy I'll be back south of the river, and right near one of my favourite places in the city. It's going to take me an hour to get to the theatre still, but...the fastest way there is to take one of the river boats. Bliss.