Do you know those last few things you need to do before a trip? It should be quick, right?
Wrong.
Every time, I’m wrong. Things always take longer than I intend. Why am I so surprised though? I recently read a book titled Four Thousand Weeks: Time Management for Mortals by Oliver Burkeman, and, boy, am I glad I did.
This is no self-help book. Turns out it’s more philosophical and now one of my keepers. When it comes to books, I only keep them if I want to reread them or hold onto it for some special reason. Other than that I’ll pass it on for someone else to enjoy. That being said, a friend is currently borrowing this book. It’s pretty good.
Four Thousand Weeks: Time Management for Mortals mentions that you’re never going to get everything done. To lessen the stress load, you simply decide not to do something. It just isn’t going to happen, and that’s okay.
It’s a good thing that I washed my car and vacuumed it out a couple of weeks ago. It had become an embarrassment for me knowing that people could see me driving a vehicle with bug grit decorating the grill and bird poop lining the hood of my car.
Cleaning my car a second time was on my list of things to do. As was filling the air in my tires to 40 psi, changing the filter in the cat water bowl, doing a deep scrub on their litter boxes, making a very important phone call (I mean, I’ll survive without it), sewing a couple of shirts for the beach (I gave that one up a month ago), washing my sheets… yeah. None of this got done.
I’ll just have my friend fill the air in my tires.
I did manage to search for my fish earrings I’d placed in my glove box months ago. The problem was that it was stuffed full with napkins. I found one earring but am afraid the other one fell behind the glove box because it was too full of napkins!
Those are my favorite earrings!
I mean, I didn’t wear them for months, but I also didn’t forget about them.
The other thing I found? My vehicle registrations since 2022. Why I had four of these things in my car, I don’t know.
My priorities came through to get my backpack ready. I’ll be living out of that thing for six months, so it quickly rose to number one on my list.
I’m glad I read that book on time management. I’d have been stressing to think all of that other stuff needed to get done.
My day began at 1:00 PM. I would be leaving tomorrow morning for an early flight. While I had a lovely visit with a wonderful friend of mine for the first part of the day, the afternoon was go-time.
My visor took less time than I expected to prepare. While the night before I learned not to put an iron to the synthetic fibers of my hat — it now has a battle scar— stitching the cat patches to my new headpiece was a relatively quick job. Sewing usually goes awry for me, but at least I’ve got the skill to make a super spunky peice of gear for the trail.
One of the most important things in my backpack — outside of my shoes, trekking poles, food, headlamp, tent, battery pack, and water filter — is my permit. I actually have to have two: a fire permit that allows me to use my stove in California and my PCT permit.
I was ahead of the game and printed these out the other day. The PCT permit is partially important because once my day hits to start the trail, I no longer have access to the portal to print it.
Don’t worry, I saved a copy to my phone.
Well, I folded these two documents and placed them on the side table next to the sectional couch in the parlor. It seems that in the night they flew away and were no where to be found.
The other only thing about it? I use my mom’s printer at her hair salon and it’s really slow.
Really, really slow.
It’s been low on ink for days (she’s got some more coming in). With that, it took about ten minutes to prepare the documents to print and another twenty minutes for them to actually print.
Like I said: slow.
Alas, with my necessary papers, I could move on to the hopefully less arduous part of my day.
A search through a Target, CVS, the local pharmacy, and Walmart rendered me without the Leuko tape or KT blister prevention tape I was looking for. I settled for some Compeed blister care. It looks like I should have ordered this stuff on Amazon. As much as I’d like to support the local market, it can be impossible sometimes trying to find the goods that I need.
Walmart had all the food I needed: protein potatoes, instant ramen, cliff bars, packs of tuna, tortillas, electrolyte packets, snickers bars. My first carry will include two breakfasts, four lunches, and three dinners.
With a load of laundry in the wash, I began the long process of packing.
For my first-aid kit, I sorted acetaminophen, Benadryl, and the anti-diarrheal pills into little baggies.
The anti-diarrheal medicine come as little tablets that are individually packaged in those aluminum foil casings. I recruited my brother and his girlfriend for assistance to get these out. Six come in a pack, so his girlfriend opened one and my brother the other five (I couldn’t manage to open any). Apparently my brother is too strong, so I have two full tablets plus eight half tablets.
I’ll be prepared if any tiny person needs half a dose for an upset tummy.
My backpack needed to be fully packed to make sure everything fit. Then I could break it down again. Next was to unpack it and lay everything out. Did I get everything I needed?
Managing these tiny details was exhausting. My trekking poles, utility knife, and lighter go in my checked bag. Battery pack and headlamp in my carry-on. Where were my blue toe socks? I have two pairs, but they like to run off and hide among all of my other hiking gear.
Dad helped me along the way as he, too, finished visiting with his own friends and putting his things into storage.
“Make sure you get some good sleep tonight,” he said. It was important for the big day ahead. I glanced at the clock. 10:30 PM. I smiled. I would be up at 3:00 AM for my flight.
“Okay. I will,” I responded.
Dad smiled in return. We both knew it was late.
Who needs sleep for an eight-hour day of travel followed by multiple 20-mile hikes anyway?
I pulled a little shelf that I used to keep my fabric in for sewing into my room. In this, I organized my clothes, medicines and toothbrushes, and excess trail foods for my mom and friends to get into when the time comes that I need a box shipped out to me.
Alas, my laundry was done. I folded it and put it away. My space was tidy, bags packed — Dad told me not to unpack it too many times as I fretted about whether or not I had what I needed — and I was ready for a chapter of Shadow and Bone.
I bid goodbye to my brother and his girlfriend. I should be seeing them pretty soon — hopefully July, and if not then, October or November — and crawled into bed.
When the lights were out, I said a little prayer.
God, please bring me a cat to sleep with tonight. You know what? That’s okay. Don’t worry about it. You’ve already done so much for me.
My mind continued to wander around for a few minutes. Not ten minutes later, I heard a familiar thump, thump, thump of a cat coming down the stairs. My door creaked open. It was sweet Penelope, the purest soul on this planet. She looks like a miniature panther, jet black fur and yellow-green eyes.
Penelope has a loud and comforting purr. She nestled next to me as I stroked her head. She wrapped her paws around my wrist and pulled her head into my hand.
Thanks, God. I appreciate it.
The cats haven’t been sleeping with me as much lately. But I’m glad my last night was accompanied by one of my critters.
My mind finally settled down. It was intentional that I didn’t think about all that I would miss here at home. I didn’t think about my niece and nephew, my grandmother, my mom, my friends, my cats. How much they would miss me. If I thought about these things, the pangs of separation would throb inside my chest. So I closed my eyes and pet my sweet cat.
I fell asleep with Penelope wrapped around my arm, happy just to be next to me.
In three and a half hours, I was set to go somewhere that would surely change my life. I would face the unknown, but that’s why I’m going: to grow from the discomfort.
The Wonderland Journal 
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