When I was a kid, packing for a trip was a grand occasion. My mother would make a list of clothes my brothers and I should put in our suitcase (seven pairs of underwear and socks, five pairs of pants, etc.), and we’d all fill our tote bags with activities for the car. (Doesn’t every prepubescent child have a tote bag?) I remember automobile bingo in particular. In later years, I brought my walkman and a stack of books so I could tune out the unfettered chaos of a car trip with my family. Later still, I snuck antihistamines so I could float down the Interstate in a drugged-out stupor while my brothers punched each other over the seats.

This morning, the idea of packing for a trip is so overwhelming that I don’t even want to change out of my pajamas or take a shower. I only need to dig a couple of changes of clothes out of the dryer and measure out my vitamins with the precision of an alchemist, but this seems overwhelming to me. I think the thing I dread the most is locating all of the power cords for my notebook computer, cell phone, iPod, digital camera, and other accoutrements of civilized travel.

Ugh, my skin is dry, too. Maybe I should just go back to bed.

Where’s the antihistamines?