Possibly even regressing. As the obvious outcome of the above.
We're a day away from expatriating and my life is easily localized - shattered - on my floor. It's supposed to fit into a suitcase and it won't. It just won't.
WHY WON'T IT FIT?
I wonder if Marty's life fits.
It probably does. Neatly.
I joke. She's a seemingly bigger mess than I. Seemingly, because she's not truly. Messy. It's just her preferred image. Really. She could be a housekeeper. That's how unmessy she is. She'll probably end up a housekeeper. It's what she wants. Handle other people's mess for money. That's how cheap she is. And I just told her I loved her. That makes me cheap too.
We're going to Paris. She and I. And her packing will be messier than mine.
Facts: Plane leaves Arlanda at 17:40 hrs, arrives in Paris at 8:10 hrs. We have made a reservation at 3 Ducks Hostel. They're mostly known for their witty slogan (Don't worry, be Ducky!) and their reasonable prices. I wish I was witty and reasonable! Marty does too.
More facts: The upcoming week is to be spent talking to each other via our newly purchased walkie-talkies, not eating for over 6 € a day and looking for long-term accommodation. A flat.
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