Packingpackingpacking . . .

So, um. Yeah.

I think I have enough clothes and stuff to last me for five days packed in my carry-on and pajamas in my backpack. And books. Three of them. For signature.

Don't Bite the Sun
Drinking Sapphire Wine
Duran Duran: The First Four Years of the Fab Five

First two are for Tanith Lee, of course. The third is for Neil Gaiman.

I'll let you know if I manage to get them signed.

I need to take the trash out now, so my place won't reek upon my return.

Gleep!

I am taking the laptop with me, but I honestly haven't the faintest notion what internet access will be available to me, so don't expect anything from me until Tuesday, maybe, if I'm not a puddle of incoherence upon my return that evening.

Today I took pleasure in a completely empty things-to-be-filed tray at work. (And then Boss #1 handed me some more stuff to put away, but for that brief and shining moment, there was emptiness.)

Today I learned I'd forgotten to actually sign my passport until just tonight.

ARGH!!!

And then I checked my email and found out that the presale tickets for the Duran Duran show in Atlanta go on sale this Friday.

The whole reason I signed up for the damn fan club, and it's shot down the drain because I had to go and have a life.

Perhaps this is a sign . . .