THE FAULT IN OUR EVERYTHING | rants and rambles

Packing Is For Posers

Dear Wattpad,

Let's get one thing straight.

I hate packing.

Also, I'm not straight, but that's hardly the point.

And there's no skirting around the issue; it follows me everywhere: competitive events, weekend trips, school... Hell, I can't leave my god damn house without ensuring that there's a chapstick "packed" safely in my front pocket because- experience speaking here- I'd blow a gasket.

Jests aside, I've been ransacking my house in search of this chapstick I have like *this* much left of and it's gone. Poof! Vanished, like magic... or theft. There's some real fuckery afoot. God is laughing at me. If you find a vanilla maple Burt's Bees, you know where to find me. That sucker's braved all of COVID-19 with me, and I'll be damned if we go down like this.

Anyway, the chapstick goblin is another issue for another time. Now, where were we?

Oh yeah.

Packing can suck my dick, honestly.

And okay, right. Everyone hates it, and everyone wishes someone else could just do it for them. It's one of those mild inconveniences that everyone must suffer through for an hour or maybe a little bit more so that they can move onto bigger and better things, such as their potentially awesome trip.

But here's the real kicker: I should be damn well used to it by now. I consider myself well-traveled (well, well-traveled to the same four or so places within the state of Texas, but well-traveled all the same). Most of my glamorous (not) excursions find me in San Antonio to visit my father, which I haven't actually done since my mother challenged the court order for sole-custody and won, so I spend that time at my grandparents' instead.

Which fuck my dad, honestly. He hasn't bothered reaching out to me for over two years. But again. Daddy issues are another issue for another time. Life rocks. I'm not bitter. Yay.

Anyway, I go to San Antonio once every five months (approximately), and when I do, it's never for a simple, quick and easy weekend trip because I live in butt-fuck Texas where grocery shopping is the highlight of my month. There's something that's not corn, wheat, or cotton to look at! A building and some cars! Real fancy stuff. So, needless to say, traveling to Texas's ex-capital is a trip, both in that people have neighbors and that the drive is several hours long.

Allow me to bore you for a moment to explain my sibling dynamic to you. It'll make sense why later. Let me break it down:

I am the second oldest of seven kids, and I live with my mother and asshole step-father.

I have a baby sister, who used to live with my biological dad before he was divorced by his second wife. My sister was born to him and this ex-wife, and thus is my half-sister. I also have a younger half-brother who was born to my biological father and an ex-girlfriend. They both lived with my father, and neither of them has lived with me.

I should note here that even when my mother and father shared custody of me, the division of time was not equal, and I was never with him enough to consider myself "living" with him. In fact, my mom hated dropping me off to such an extent that she'd often refuse, and my mandated time with him was even less. He never bothered fighting her about it.

Now that that's cleared up, let's move on, shall we?

I have another little sister, but I'm related to her neither through blood nor marriage. My used-to-be step-mother was a divorcee before marrying my dad and had a daughter from her previous relationship. I still consider her my little sister. She used to have equally shared time with her mother and grandmother in place of her father. Her dad was not in the picture for reasons I shan't disclose here for purposes that I should think are obvious.