Making Some Lists, Checking Them Meticulously

Over the past several days, I have made several lists, all of which I devotedly will refer to during the inevitable frenzy that will occur when I leave all tangible work to the last minute. The lists include what I should have already done and what I should already be packing. Outlined in frightening detail by clothing style, type of toiletry product, and form of entertainment, the packing list is a particularly ridiculous testament to my love of planning as well as my lack of follow-through.

Oh well. At the very least, making lists causes me to feel more productive without all the effort of actually picking out clothes and opening a new bank account and making appointments and getting more contact lenses and replacing my laptop battery. I’ve known about all of these to-dos for weeks. It’s the to-doing that gets me.

I’ve chosen which societies I’ll join upon my arrival at King’s College, however. I’ve got two at the top right now–Green Fingers, a society devoted to gardening (livin’ sustainablyish in London) and the USA society, which is rather self-explanatory. I can’t decide whether I’ll spend most of my time defending America or hurling further insults at it. Only time will tell. Fortunately, there’s also an international students society, where I can seek refuge from representing the stars ‘n’ stripes and feign loyalty to Canada. I’ve watched enough Degrassi to be convincing, I’m sure of it.

Further contributing to my inability to live in the here-and-now, in the land of need-to-get-done, I keep getting distracted by the glorious potential of what I can to-do once I get to London. For example, there’s this lovely ice skating rink where I can fulfill nearly all of my living-in-a-cold-metropolis fantasies (The same rink was briefly featured in Love Actually, too. You know the one. There’s a shamefully large and grandiose building behind it.):

  • wearing a warm black wool toggle coat with my cute-but-cheeky white woolen hat,
  • drinking spiked hot chocolate, resulting in a slightly pink glow,
  • pretending to be an elegant and sophisticated ice skater as the sky releases downy flurries of snow,
  • linking arms with my charming and witty male friend who just happens to be a future duke,
  • and even enjoying cold weather.

The last one is a real stretch, but studying abroad is all about stretching, anyway. I imagine myself developing an English accent, in these same fantasies. And reconnecting with my English relatives, thus allowing me to prove my English ancestry and gain a dual citizenship. In my dreams, that is. I cannot be limited to the constraints established by the study abroad office, as I have already demonstrated with my first program-defying feat: obtaining a visa.

I invested so much of my time into securing that sucker that all other tasks seem rather menial. That’s my only explanation. No clothes? No writing utensils? No (heaven forbid) computer? Whatever, I’ve got a visa. Both kinds, actually.

Looks like I can narrow down that packing list. Access and money. Check and check.


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