Once again I sit here, cup of tea in hand, contemplating the massive task of packing suitcases that awaits me. I've set aside the entire day for packing, with the ultimate goal of being able to take the largest amount of things with me, all without exceeding the 50-pounds-per-bag limit (and therefore getting into sticky territory, namely excess baggage fees and not being able to readily lift and carry both suitcases by myself).
When I was younger, I used to love packing my bags in anticipation for a trip. I also used to love flying. It was all such an adventure.
Now I dread both packing and flying. Now regular and essential parts of my lifestyle, they are no longer signs of an adventure ahead.
I still hate unpacking. Always have, likely always will.
As I finish my cup of tea, select a few ripe apricots to have for breakfast, and look at my stuff strewn all about this house, I wonder - once again - where did the time go. I've been away from Mozambique for 2 months already. How did this happen? It seems it was just yesterday I was having a severe allergy attack after Dona Lidia pitched up at our door nearly collapsing with malaria. Rico took her to the clinic, I stayed home and finished packing and made chocolate-orange cake and chicken soup to pass the time.
Before I know it I'll be back in Maputo, with Rico and our sweet boys, starting the countdown for his extended trip to Rio in July. Seriously, the pack-unpack-hello-goodbye cycle never ends.