Last Few Hours

My cab gets here in exactly six hours, and my plane leaves in exactly nine. I have not packed yet. I'm getting to it, but it's taking forever. I wanted to put my room in order before I leave, but that's proving to be the impossible task. To think that I have only been here for six months! I am so bad at organizing. I try really hard to do it right, but I fail miserably every single time. It's annoying me a lot right now (I'm always annoyed when I'm cleaning up after myself - and don't get me started on the the cheese-crusted bowl that my sink is proudly displaying), and that's why I'm blogging. I wish my super-efficient friends were still here to give me a hand (or two hands each), but they all left last Saturday. Oh, one is still here, but she's probably sleeping right now. Darn.

Speaking of leaving, last Saturday night, I was chatting with a friend from home who goes to BC Law. He said that his plane was leaving in twelve hours, which means he's probably been home for a good how many hours now. I was so jealous of him at that time. I had nothing more to do, and I really wanted to be in Manila already. But now that I think about it, it's a good thing that my flight wasn't scheduled any sooner. I hibernated for the whole of last weekend, and it felt really good. I'd sleep a little more than half the day, hunt for food with my civilized dollars, then go back home to my music and Snood. Today was the only day I got semi-busy. I got up after noon (after sleeping at midnight), rode the trolley to the mainland to take care of stuff, and then waited for a few minutes for the bus to downtown South Bend.

It was freezing outside, so I hopped on the first bus that came along. The idiot that I am got on the wrong bus. I was spacing out big-time (yes, yes, I know; don't do this or you will get yourself killed), so I didn't even realize my mistake until we got to the last stop, where everyone was hopping out, and I thought to myself, "this doesn't look like the mall." I asked the driver what was going on, and he pointed me to the right bus. I got on that one, rode back to where I boarded, and, after five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes, found myself at the mall, where I spent a good how many hours hunting for winter boots.

I got home at past eight, rested for an hour, and then headed over to the Center to take care of my laundry. I was craving for chocolate, so I got two Kit-Kat bars and promptly spilled crumbs all over my coat. I tried to pick them off but ended up smearing them. Classic. Later on, I tapped the white dryer screen on the edge of the trash can to get rid of the lint (and therefore ready the dryer for human usage), but, apparently, I tapped it the wrong way, so the lint flew joyfully to my coat to join the chocolate. That's not it yet. I wanted to get a drink, so I put two dollar coins in the vendo (the stupid machine wouldn't accept my pennies; what am I to do with those copper toys?), and claimed my Diet Coke. When I opened the bottle, the Coke frizzed down my hands and onto the table. The paper towel machine was empty, so the brilliant me tried mopping the mess up with my used Downy sheets and then with paper strips. Needless to say, neither method was effective. I never knew paper could be so liquid-resistant. But anyway, I found a really simple way to clean the mess up. I'm not writing it here cause you'll think I'm stupid.

When I got back to my apartment, the door wouldn't open. The lock was either stuck or being evil. I hemmed and hawed and hoped that some chivalrous prince would rescue me, but none did (their loss). I got tired of waiting, so I jabbed the doorbell of my priest-neighbour (who is going to my professor next sem) and after wrestling with the door for a few minutes, he got it open, and I was saved from a painful death from frostbite.

And then I took a shower, called people here to either say good-bye when they answered or hang up when their voice mail did (haha, sorry, friends; wasn't in the mood for a mini-soliloquy), and started cleaning my room. I am still here, doing that. I should get back to it, I know. Time's running out, and the bags won't pack up by themselves. I'll end this with a wish: I wish for decent (decent-sized and decent-mannered) plane seatmates so I can get some sleep on that thirteen-hour flight from Detroit to Nagoya.