I suspect I may be a hoarder.

I'm beginning to pack up my room at the moment; I'm moving all my stuff out in stages over the next month before I move to Canada for my exchange. How hard could that possibly be? It's only one room in a tiny apartment, I've only lived here a few months and I travel a lot, so I must be good at packing. Right? Well, I've already filled a 70kg tramping bag with clothes I figure I could live without for the next month. Next to that is a bag filled with books that I'm hoping to slip into my brother's bag when he's not looking. I've calculated how much clothing I could wear on the plane - and my room is still full of stuff. I've thrown a little bit out, but most of my things are essential. Like my clothes - everyone needs clothes, and I've got my teeshirts down to five. From twentyfive. And my university work is totally necessary, it's just a shame that it entails so many text books. And course readers. And any bit of paper my hot tutor touched. I'm just very attached to my things. Like my rubber duck collection. I've justified hanging onto them because they're small, and that then allows for my little toy ponies and my porcelain elephants. And my bags - how did I end up with so many? I use all of them, so I couldn't possibly pack them away. Maybe I'll pack them with other things, like the shot glass collection I've acquired, or the giant St Patrick's day hat.
Which again begs the question - where did all this stuff come from and WHY do I still have it?
I think there are probably professionals who can help me with my problem. Some might suggest professional rubbish truck men would be the go. Until then I guess I'll just have to look for a bigger place.

Facebook - go and get poked.

I have a love/ hate relationship with Facebook. Most of the time I love it - instant, international communication with friends and family, file and photo sharing, fun applications, the creation of my virtual self, seeing that I have more 'friends' than my ex boyfriend... I admit that I spend a lot of time on Facebook. I might even have a problem. But it's just so useful! If it wasn't for Facebook I might forget twice as many birthdays as I do. I wouldn't have been invited to the 'I'm on a boat' party. I wouldn't be able to publicly declare my love of spooning and Georgie Pie. Today I got poked three times, two people wrote on my wall, I was tagged in five photos and I instant messaged with six people! My sense of importance and being loved was through the roof!
Then I looked at the clock. I had been at my desk working on my presentation for four hours and I had barely touched it. I hadn't eaten (coffee doesn't count, it's more like breathing), I hadn't left the apartment. Uh-oh. I firmly closed the webpage and went to work on my presentation. But opened it again ten minutes later to check whether that guy had messaged me back and to change my status to something witty.

Don't even get me started on statuses. At once the most important and exciting and the most stressful part of my day. It's not enough to say 'Hannah is feeling tired', it needs to say more, to capture the essence of my self. 'Hannah had a wicked night last night but is suffering the after effects!!!' is a little closer to the mark, but is that really enough to inform people of my level of utmost coolness? Maybe throw a little personal joke in there - 'Hannah had a wicked night (watch out for zombies, eh Kallan??) but is suffering the after effects!!!' Maybe it just needs to be totally esoterical so as to inform people that not only am I trendy and a little bit mysterious, I also don't care if people understand my posts or not, cos I'm too cool for Facebook. By this reasoning, I tend to end up with a status like 'Hannah wen!t zombie last night! Feeling Kallan - watch out, after effects eh!' Which I think are ridiculously clever, but no one ever leaves cheeky little comments on...

So now I'm back to Facebook. I know it's midnight, and that essay is only half written, but I need to know what happend in my fifteen minute absence. Perhaps I got poked again.