Peak and freak

See this pile?

This is everything I need for a year in Bangkok. It has to fit into three suitcases, one of which is tiny-carry-on size. I'm a little panicked about the adjustments to the space/time continuum that will need to be made in order to make this happen. The laws of physics will be severely bent, if not exactly broken. Tears will no doubt be shed.

I have only nine pair of shoes. Eight brassieres. Three yoga pants. Three suits, but the cherry-colored one might not make the final cut. It's lovely but kinda warm. I'll have to get by with one bag -- goodbye, shiny black Moschino split calf. See you next summer, bone leather Anne Klein satchel. I'll miss you, navy blue Coach. And you, sweet orange-and-gold Cole Haan -- goodbye.

Today I had the unsettling experience of getting on the roller coaster of nostalgia and hysteria -- known by the more flamboyant of our male brethren as the Peak and Freak. Alternating between Hair-On-Fire and Boo-Hoo is no way to spend a day. So what did I do? I'm the daughter of a socialite -- I made a drink and put on more lipstick.

I am also, thank god, the daughter of an engineer, so after I had a Sustaining Beverage I got out my drill and fixed the back of a piece of furniture that needed some love. Thus fortified with the confidence that I can, indeed, do anything, I started throwing stuff onto the bed to see exactly how much I would have to carry to Asia. And then I took a picture of it. And now we all know the facts on the ground, and can proceed to use our spatial reasoning skills to get us out of this overstuffed mess.