When words look splattered

I’ve been procrastinating. Procrastinating writing this and that, and, probably that other thing. I’ve been avoiding the inevitable preparation of packing, unpacking and then packing yet again.

In a week I finish my internship at Paste and embark on an adventure overseas in Prague. I am ecstatic for what’s to come, but perplexed by the unaccountable necessities required for everything to come together. Naturally, I’m bound to forget slightly important objects and say goodbye to some of the right and wrong people, but, on top of all of the things I could forget or simply not do, I’m bound to walk into this adventure entirely unprepared.

Am I setting myself up for this? Yes, completely.

Constantly I remind myself of how the clock is ticking and I’m not doing a damn thing to comfort my partially tense nerves. Instead, I watch the Olympics, make lists, meander about the interwebs a few hours more than the eight hours I already meander at work or skip tracks on itunes until I find a song that I only kind-of, sort-of feel like listening to.

And that reminds me, somehow, with some 7,000 songs in my music library, I have nothing to listen to. This is, in every possible way, a ridiculous scenario.

I’ve been procrastinating.

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