So much for the out by office at 6pm plan. The day before the break and just rushing to clear enough work so that I can go for the break without having to worry about everything erupting in my absence meant an extremely hectic Wednesday replete with a drama mama hearing at court with that ridiculously unreasonable woman who wanted free work. Thankfully we're officially rid of her.
Leaving at an otherwise decent 8-ish required hours of vein throbbing non-stop work. Which still leaves me with an unpacked bag, unprinted plane tickets and other tedious but necessary admin work to undertake before one flies off anywhere. I never liked having to pack my bag for a trip. Some people find it exciting, like it builds whatever unseen excitement adding momentum to the thrill and exhilaration of just going on a ho li ho li day.
I find it a tedious chore. I'm the kind of person who wishes my bag just magically gets automatically backed and all that boring admin stuff is all done and prepared for. All one needs to do is get on the cab, check in and get on the plane viola. Which probably explains why I'm here blogging instead of packing my bag as I should be doing.
I usually get around to it eventually, sometime around the witching hour, ponder what the hell I should put in. Invariably end up packing too much, throw out some stuff and by the time I'm done it's like 3 or 4am in the morning. It's a bloody affliction. Close friends and others often attribute this sloppiness to the inability to decide just what to bring. "Bring the whole cupboard la." they say. Which is besides the point.
I don't need variety, I'm probably just factoring in what happens if I suddenly get unexpectedly drenched for some unforeseen reason or a wardrobe malfunction occurs and a particular piece starts disintegrating. Such as when one goes clubbing and a happy/sad/mad drunk comes along and mistakes your Zara Tee for a rag and lets you know so in no uncertain terms.
But all that is probably an excuse to cover the perennial affliction, I just fucking hate to pack. And the ironic thing is despite all the hours spent on that chore, all the plodding from the bag to do some unrelated activity back to the bag again, I almost always end up not bringing something I wanted to bring. Some like toothpaste and lube are easily replaceable, others like the comfy pair of slippers from Raffles, less so. Or perhaps it is isn't so ironic after all given the modus operandi of packing and the effort put in.
I shall get down to packing, in an hour or so. People always ask me why I'm returning to Bangkok after just having gone 2 months ago. Other than the very obvious reason that the last trip was an utter disaster and total bore, the more mundane reason being I need to do some shopping for work wear and shoes in particular. Out of the three pairs of shoes, one went from black to brown, the other's peeling and the third is well still normal for now.
I did contemplate Bali but I wasn't in a spa mood, the shopping ain't half as good and I think I think when I finally decided on going back to Bangkok, that vicious part of me did it out of spite. Just to prove to myself that a trip without him would be a whole lot more enjoyable. Childish I know (and here I am counselling angsty men and women to think about "the welfare of the children and work together as parents even if your role has husband and wife is over" Good lord I can write a damn aunt aggy column soon.) but still I don't doubt this trip would definitely be a lot more fun.
It's hard to have a worse trip than rooming with a erstwhile lover who pretends his way of caring, which happens to include informing one about his escapades in bed with a pot bellied colleague, is the best and you're better off sharing a room with a total stranger (whom you can at least start with on a clean slate). Anyway, if you ever think of rooming with an ex like I did, please go shoot yourself or spend that money on toto or 4d or something.
There is something about Bangkok which makes people believe the worst. From remarks like " Aiya go Bangkok again do what ah? See Tiger is it?" to the mother's more blatant " Cannot go those red light district and find gers you know? Cannot do anything stupid later get Aids." while I was having dinner. Which damn near made the noodles exit from the wrong orfice.
I should have just told her I'm going to all the big agogo bars and hire all the boys I fancy and have a personal harem with free for all orgy at patpong just to see her reaction. But the fallout thereafter would be too much hassle cause trust me when I say she'll take it hook line and sinker.
And you get people like my seccie who went, you going to that place you were telling me (Chatuchak market)? Chatupong? Flustered as I was rushing a Defence I couldn't help laughing. Silly woman.
I won't deny that I'll check 'Boys Town' again, this time without a dead fish of a chaperone and in particular probably that gay club we walked by, contemplated going to and ended up rotting at the room, staring at the TV instead. I'll probably pass on the flesh merchandise parade. Nice to see, nice to touch but like the village bicycle, everyone's rode it. Though in this case, it's more like the City bike with cosmopolitan passengers.
Remember to read the reports, you have one day to prepare and file the affidavits when you return, my affable seccie went before telling me to have a good trip. It'll go somewhere in my luggage but I doubt I'll do more than give it a cursory glance. Time to unwind, relax and recharge. Preferably with a couple of cute guys on hand but purely purely optional. ^^