Packing- Huffington Post

Excuse my French: The Packing Begins Again

So, after a two-month stint back home, I am finally starting to prepare for semester two. These past weeks have been spent wandering the streets aimlessly and typing ‘Geneva’ into Google almost every day in a desperate attempt to get there sooner than possible, but, alas, the wait still felt painfully long.

And now the time to move is finally coming, and the packing begins. I’ve had all these weeks to prepare and start the process but, as usual, I seem to enjoy the self-sabotaging leave-it-to-the-last-minute approach. I do NOT want a repeat of last semester’s packing, which resulted in me carrying a total of 55kg and lugging it across the south of France. That’s not even an exaggeration, it’s an actual calculation that I did when I was bedbound with severe spinal agony and mild PTSD once I finally arrived at my apartment.

So this time I am trying to pack lighter. I will not bring seven pairs of shoes and ludicrous ornaments. I will be as savvy and as stingy as possible. That said, I still want to bring three coats, but I feel as though I will genuinely need them. And this is where the many dilemmas slowly start to rear their ugly heads. I also really want to pack my cat this time, which I feel is not exactly useless to me and would certainly not be a waste of space. It might, unfortunately, breach the laws of animal abuse and will undoubtedly crop up during airport security. So I am also preparing for another painful separation from him when I depart.

It’s hard to care about the minutiae of packing, however, when I’m too focused on fantasising about the city. And the fact that the house I’m renting a room in has a pool and a spa and a dog, so at the moment life is looking pretty bloody good. Although Avignon was a gorgeous little city and living in the south of France had so much to offer, there were some serious aspects of the placement which annoyed the shit out of me. Most prominently, as I have complained about a boring amount of times, the university. The university of Geneva, on the other hand, has so much potential and generally makes me think that I won’t want to jump off the roof when I start there. Which is all I can really ask of an Erasmus placement. Geneva, and Switzerland in general, also holds the glorious promise of a nicer and less-rapey population of men, which I am thrilled about after the hellish situations with misogynistic knobheads we found ourselves in in Avignon.

The next time I write will be post-move, so in the mean time I can wait and think of strategies of the best way to pack a cat in a suitcase. And continue to walk around Geneva on Google Maps Street View. A la prochaine fois!

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