Mom always said pack plenty of clean underwear.
Went to the store, got a gripping case of decidophobia. It's staggering. Maybe because I had just finished my schedule and realized there are PAN workshops overlapping regular workshops I want to attend. I'm wearing two hats at National... the author who needs to know more about promo/marketing/the business and the writer who wants inspiring writing workshops.
So I made up a schedule, put little marks next to the conflicts and then went to buy underwear. Simple task. I mean, it's underwear. No?
No. I stood there for 15 minutes, deciding. Do I want the plain white panties or the cool blue ones? Stripes? Solids? Satin? Cotton? Dancing chipmunks?
Then I finally realized what I was doing. I mean, IT'S UNDERWEAR. The fashion police won't pull me aside at workshops and growl, "Bonnie, what kind of panties are you wearing because this is a thong kind of workshop and those dancing chipmunks are OUT."
I'm getting my panties in a wad over my panties getting into a wad. Sheesh.
So I solved my problem. I bought four packages. I have enough underwear to last through hurricane season at least, which is a good thing should another hurricane strike, because then I don't have to worry about clean panties, because I'm going to NEED plenty of clean panties because if another hurricane hits my house, I'm gonna....
Tomorrow's task? Figuring how many rest stops there are between here and Atlanta so I can calculate how much coffee I can handle for the 9.42 hour drive up there. I'll be there one at the literacy signing walking around in a glassy-eyed daze, clutching a road map and muttering to myself, "Tall latte, shot of espresso, light & sweet."