unpack. repack. unpack. oh, f*ck it.

Back in the real world, coming home from a trip on Sunday was always a drag. I knew that my suitcase would sit, unpacked and messy, until the work week ended and I finally had a chance to catch up. It would just sit there, taunting my inability to 'do it all' and my feeble attempts at 'work life balance.'

Now that I live in the surreal world of an expat trailing spouse, I have plenty of time. I've allowed myself to get distracted by a host of things: picking up our official Alien Registration Cards, getting keys to our new apartment, going to Karaoke on a Monday night, eating slightly better Mexican food on Tuesday, and now skiing on Wednesday.

Our hotel room might have looked something like this yesterday:

Wow. Sorry Amos. I never let it get that bad when I was actually, you know, working.

That's right... unpacking from the Philippines [pictures coming soon, I promise]... packing to move (!) into our new apartment (!!) on Friday (!!!). The month and a half of hotel living is coming to an end, and not a damn moment too soon.

Sorry, gotta run. The hills of Gifu aren't going to ski themselves you know. My life? It might not suck.