I've sifted through stacks of mail that have been sitting on the table for months, mopped the floors, done the dishes and PAINTED the bookshelves. Why? Because I don't want to pack. I hate packing. I'm terrible at it. How is it that while packing I decide a snow-globe, the sweater I've never once worn and a pair of too-small pants will suddenly be perfect in Beligium?
Credit to whomever took/photoshopped
this oddly perfect illustration for this entry.
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