Leaving... again.

Which means, I'm packing, again. Except this time I am leaving the final remains of my mini-library. After having parted with over 100 books last summer, this is an all too easy separation. The Republic and Leviathan, and all my Foucaults will be left behind in this bland apartment. I kept 5 books: my Italo-English dictionary, Oxford English dictionary, the novel Q in the original Italian, my UBC Institute of European Studies publication, and Michel de Montaigne's Complete Essays. Besides that, my boxes dominantly contain clothes and the occasional shoe.

I filled out just over 20 pages of paperwork for shipping four boxes to London. After being asked "Do your shipments contain the following types of food?" about 5 times per page, I got the point that I was not to ship any food, which sucks. I was also already hesitant in packing for London - I seriously pondered whether I really wanted to go to this widely loved yet fatally expensive city - so this extensive writing process just made it that much more arduous and painful. Thank god I had tea - it solves everything.

So much thinking about what to and not to pack, so much writing, so much cleaning up. This left me with a slight appetite, so I cooked some dinner for the first time in who knows how long. But I realized today that I don't like the regular kind of spaghetti; it's too thick. So I tried adding a little bit of vermicelli pasta with the regular kind, which was a bad idea. The vermicelli overcooked. And once I started eating I realized that I don't like overcooked pasta, either. The better of the two evils? Hmm, that makes too much sense.