I am packing right now. Tomorrow morning I head off to perform at a big festival in Adelaide doing a show all of my own. Actually ten of them! That's fucking awesome. It promises to be one of the best things I'll ever get the opportunity to have in my future. The future being where it takes place. Like it's not set in the future, well some of it may be, it's an improvised show, so it could take place anytime my imagination says it will, like space in a whole different universe, or a fantasy world where everything you lick becomes gold, or even a kitchen! But I said it takes place in the future because I was trying not to temp fate, but I think I've fucked up, I've tried so hard to avoid tempting fate that I think fate is about to go all in. Fucking hell. The point is the show may be awesome, as long as I get there safely. Which I plan on. Please pray for me.
Also who cares about the future, let's care about now, and you know what's awesome about now? It’s that I'm currently packing. And that's awesome, because I love packing!
Packing is a rare activity that makes you take stock of what you've got, and what you've got that you don't need. Like for example do I need the bottle of dishwasher powder on the bench in front of me right now anytime in the next three weeks? Possibly not. Given that I'm staying in a hotel room with no dishwasher I think there's less than a 17% chance I'll use it in the next three weeks. Therefore I don't need it.
Wow. I'd NEVER have known that had I not been packing to go away today. I'd have sat around home thinking I NEEDED dishwasher powder. That's a shit life.
'Hey wanna come get a bite with me'?
'Nah I can't, got to stay with my dishwashing powder'.
'You can bring it if you want?'
'Really, you're swell'
'I am really aren't I?
'Oh fuck I need you now too'.
Now do that same thing with everything you own that you don't actually need. Your TV, your microwave, three types of photo ID, your life size blow up cheese sandwich doll, a ball of dryer fluff, a plastic bag full of plastic bags, three things nick named 'Karl', a folder full of leaves you've rescued from sadistic rakes, the opportunity to sing naked, a moldy half loaf of bread, a hole punch, a pair of broken sunglasses, a broken cow bell, a broken promise of endless sunshine - I could go on and on - and so I will - a pair of shorts you swear you'll be thin enough to wear again one day, a charger to a phone you no longer own, respect of your peers, two working pancreases, a box of tissues with no tissues left in it, a personally hand written transcript of episode 124 of Murder She Wrote, the memory of a monkey, a wet towel, a sofa, the part of the sofa with the barbeque sauce stain, a ticket stub to the movie you saw last week, pork breath, your TV.
Now think of how many friends that you you'll have to get a bite with to hang on to all that! Friends that you'll end up NEEDING for being so swell. But I now know that half the stuff on my list I don't need in the next three weeks, and the other half now sits neatly shoved in my bag. Yep, packing kicks ass.
Ps. Check out my show. It’s going to be in the future, and may be even set in a kitchen NOOK!
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