Organised is my new middle name

The disorganised, maladroit, always-on-the-last-minute-for-everything OctoberPoppy has been erased. Obliterated. Permanently.

I am feeling rather smug because for once, I have taken charge, determined that no, I will NOT be rushing round like a headless chicken hurriedly trying to pack the night before going to uni. I will NOT be forgetful and leave vital items at home (NHS medical card; laptop; mobile phone charger; emergency stack of 'calming nerves + butterflies in stomach' chocolate bars). I will NOT try to cram as much stuff as possible into a tiny suitcase, realise that no, it won't all go in and then break down in a screeching fit, whilst trying frantically to discard unnecessary items ('frying pan? Who needs that? Like I'm actually going to cook!')

No. I am going to be calm. Leisurely. Take it all in my stride. Nothing, I repeat NOTHING can frazzle OctoberPoppy's new found ability to be organised and efficient. Even though it is three weeks until I venture off to University, I am going to heed my mother's advice (for once) and prepare well in advance.

So, rubbing my hands in a fit of vigour, I eyed the mountains of junk piled on top of my wardrobe, clambered onto a chair and set about unearthing my trusty suitcase. Now, I know it's up here somewhere...I muttered to myself, before grunting under my breath 'If I can-just-pull away-this-pile-of-heavy-A Level files...WAAAAAHHHH!' A pile of papers dating back to the Iron Age (specifically Year 7, term 1-it's surprising how big and ungainly my handwriting was and how could I really have thought it was attractive to dot my 'i's with tiny hearts??!!) tilted precariously before beginning a rapidly accelerating landslide off the top of the wardrobe. I narrowly dodged the raining tide of CDs which had decided to join in the fun and followed suit. Unfortunately, I was too slow to avoid the heavy laptop box which, dislodged, landed with a resounding clonk on my head, before continuing its descent to the carpeted floor. Sighing, I turned back to my task, my eyes lighting up as I spied the suitcase, flattened by the accumulated weight of the junk piled on top. I recovered my bounty and, safely on the ground again, I brushed away the dust and cobwebs- fancy that, I dusted up there recently as well (three months ago).

It is then when it hits me. Hauling my gear on a train from Manchester to Durham is not going to be quite the piece of cake I though it would be.

So far, I have packed my stack of (ton weight) books, a rolled up pillow, tossed in some pairs of jeans for good measure and...my bloody suitcase is already half full! Where on earth am I going to put my cooking utensils (well, actually I haven't bought them yet)? My hairdryer (haven't bought that either)? My stationery and files (nor them)? What about all the other stuff- the alarm clock; the towel; the lemsips; the canary yellow (and oh-so-stylish) Marigolds; the bulky laptop; the hat and gloves and scarf; the bed linen? Never mind clothing- at the moment it looks like I'm going to be taking the grand total of two outfits and visiting the laundrette. A lot. So I got down to business, calmed the panicky fluttering of my heart and grimly surveyed the mountain of stuff before me and the (relatively) tiny confines of my suitcase. Right, OctoberPoppy, you're going to have to be strict with yourself and divide your junk into 'strictly necessary' and 'frivolous'. Being the newly organised me, I complied...and found that everything, bar my wall hangings, came under 'strictly necessary'. According to this, I am screwed I will be laden like a pack horse and have a uni room like a tomb. It's never been more obvious that I need to invest some shiny pennies in a backpack.

The only silver lining to this (very grey, depressing) cloud is that boy am I glad I'm not confronting these issues at 1AM, the night before I go to uni.