I pack in my gym membership the other day: no more pump or spin classes for me in this town. No time remains for gym visits in the coming five weeks as I prepare to quit Bendigo and decamp to Melbourne.
To pack up, vb. to pack goods in compact form, as for transportation or storage
I must pack up my little terrace house in Baxter Street and cart my worldly goods to Croydon. I must pack up my desk and move to a temporary work space in the Bendigo Library two weeks hence: eleven of us will relocate while our condemned building is redeveloped.
To pack in, vb. to cram many things into a small space or time
My mind spins, as it has for weeks, about what to pack first, last and in between. What do I transport in my car and what will I load into a truck? What size truck will I hire? Which bikes go or stay where? When do I transfer utilities into my name so I have gas and electricity?
A million things to think about, a thousand things to do.
I must continue to find the time to pedal mon vélo. I must squeeze many rides up many mountains into a busy schedule and still find 45.6 hours a fortnight to go to work. And I must find time for the small amount of work my one-person business attracts, like last week’s training days in Sydney.
I must pack it all in without packing it in.
To pack shit, vb. to be afraid, to worry to excess about something
I must also pack it all in without packing shit. For months the gloom of impending interruption to my sedate life casts a pall on everything. Now as D-Day approaches, I settle deliberately into a calm space in my head, telling myself that April is just one mountain to climb. April is my Col du Galibier and I have a whole month to meet the challenge. In July I have but one day.
No comments:
Post a Comment