Please excuse the bemused expression; redhead might be battling a major hangover*.
Another day of semi-leisure that actually means packing. My bedroom has reached the stage where your shelves are completely looted, and everything looks as if a hurricane has swept though. Clothes are strewn everywhere, stacks of books and candles and post-it notes and pictures and all manner of small sundries (staplers, matchbooks, ornaments, thank you notes) are cluttering up every possible surface.
I swear I will make sense of all of it before my trip to Austin . . . so that I may come back to a week of bare-and-spare room before I light out for the coast.
(And yes, I said to Austin. I’m hitting five cities in the next two weeks. Hurray!)
Ugh. Hangover means that I do not want to clean out my trunk and sort that pile of papers . . . . .
. . . . so I might put it off one or two more days and go buy some garment boxes instead.
(You’d better believe my clothes are gonna travel in style.)
*Which yes, does mean that the sangria was a success. (Perhaps my best ever, to be frank.)