For those of you (I mean you, Mr. Stalker Guy) anxiously counting down to my departure, you would know that I have a mere 7 days left. I know. I'll give you guys (I mean you again, Stalker) a moment to grab a tissue and weep at how life as you know it would soon come to a screeching halt. My soon-to-come departure would undoubtedly thrust everyone here into a pit of darkness and dizzying gloom, but oh well, whaddaya gonna do 'bout it.
It's not like everything's daisies and strawberry sundaes for me either, ya know. I'm faced with the daunting task of leaving behind the bulk of my extensive CD collection. Almost like leaving my children behind, except children can't produce such wondrous sounding music on demand. Come to think of it, I'd much rather pack my whole Mariah collection than bring my own child along. Don't blame me, blame his inferior vocal cords.
So here I am, with my new 52-sleeve CD pouch (the exterior design is of a world-map, like those kinds that sea captains would have, cause I thought it was appropriate seeing how I'm bringing my CDs on a world tour. The gold lies in the details, as they always say.), contemplating my CD racks (that's right, plural) and trying to decide who gets to come and who has to stay. Of course, priority goes to Ms Carey, Ms Streisand and Ms Dion. I wanna bring along Christina, but she has been naughty lately, releasing electronic crap on the Bionic album, so I'm not really inclined to do her any favors. I'm not the kind that can just bring one or two albums from their collection, I simply have to bring the whole thing. (The exception is Barbra, with her 60 album collection that I only own a fraction of.) It's like how you can't chop off the arms of your child and only bring your favorite limb. Or choose to wear a string of his cute baby toes on your neck. Well not exactly like that, but you get me.
Also, should I bring along their concert DVDs? Sometimes you really need that hour or so of concert-therapy to soothe your breaking heart (eg, Subway runs out of sweet onion sauce, and I run home to sob). But only the ones that are region-compatible with my MacBook, I think. Weeping over lost sauce in-front of the shared TV while choking out Barbra songs ("someday.. somewhere.. we'll find a new way of living...") would most definitely ruin the positive image I'm trying to make them think I possess.
The act of packing these discs into the new CD pockets is giving me this strange sense of instability. I feel like I'm ripping them from their comfortable homes and cases, putting them in an unfamiliar environment, and shipping them off to a foreign land. Sounds pretty autobiographical, innit. Would this attempt at 'taking a piece of home with me' really make me feel better when I'm homesick, or would they only serve as a reminder of how removed from home I am?
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