I have to be out of my current apartment by the end of the month. One of my coworkers offered to help me move some of my stuff to my new apartment tomorrow (thank you!), which means that today I will be packing like crazy (again) and getting everything ready.
I’ve already moved most of the stuff from my bedroom (read: lots and lots of clothes and shoes), but today I have to deal with all the stuff I’ve been avoiding: the pile of dirty clothes that need to be washed and packed away, the kitchen (not looking forward to this one since everything in there is fragile and completely out of my reach), and my backpack. My poor, poor backpack.
After the South by Southwest Tums Disaster of March 2012, I put my backpack in a corner and pretended it didn’t exist. Every now and then I would give it a look and think, “I’ll clean it soon.” But I never did. Why? Because every time I reached in there to grab something, it reminded me of the horrors inside. It was a project that I just wasn’t ready to tackle.
But today I was forced to face my fears.
This is what the inside of my backpack looks like:
Here’s an actual picture of some of the items that I took out: