Pack Attack

Last night I had a going away thing at black dog. Then somehow I ended up doing five shots in a row and had to leave. It was fun though. I really love my friends, and I’ve met a bunch of interesting people working at Blue Plate this summer. I wish I could have gotten to know some of them better. Then again I might be back in a month.

I really am bad at goodbyes. When I left Ghana I didn’t say goodbye to so many people and I know I offended people by neglecting to do so. Ghana was a strange situation though because I’m never going to see those people again, and I think I got sort of apathetic about it. I didn’t see the point. Just let it be what it was, was what I was thinking I guess.

I’m packing right now and I’ve been listening to Fleetwood Mac (the Rumors album) and U2 (the Joshua Tree album). Those are the two albums I remember my parents listening to when I was young. Those and I’m Your Man (I made up a dance routine to First We Take Manhattan), and Was (Not Was) which incidentally I heard someone at the Empress quoting the other day. There’s this song on that tape (we only had the tape) called Dad I’m in Jail (I think) and these guys were reciting it.

Anyway, I’m packing. I find myself wanting to take the most useless sentimental stuff. Like this little picture of Ramona that I’ve had forever. It’s in a small silver frame and her little seven or eight-year-old head fills the whole thing, she’s sticking out her tongue. But what would I do with it if I brought it? Do I really need to carry every letter I’ve ever received around with me? Do I really need that plastic rat I found on the main street in Peterborough? NO, NO I DON’T.

I do need to remember to bring my alarm clock though.