Is there such an occupation as "Packer of the bags"?

Just let me say it out aloud: I hate packing. Hate it. Bloody lust loathe it. I stamp on it. I give it a chinese burn. I throw it out the window. Disgusting. But sometimes you gotta do it. I sit here on the bed with clean clothes, dirty clothes, unironed clothes, damp clothes, shoes, books, magazines, papers, iPod cables, laptop cables, money, cards, headphones, weights, shopping bags et al and have no idea where to put anything. I'm madly cramming as much into my suit bag as is humanly possible as I figure a slightly bloated suit bag won't matter. I've got a bag of food stuff I don't know what to do with. A really dirty Prince song plays in the background that I can't remember the name but is basically someone having an orgasm. That's it.. Come. I'm chock full of pasta at the moment and a fridge half full of food that I can't use. Checkout time is 830 tomorrow. I handed in all my receipts this morning and fingers crossed I may get a portion of the $350 supermarket shopping over the last month. Tell me I didn't overspend? I shipped my boss' dvd player back to her today with a little thank you, a Brad Pitt movie (she's a fan). Was disappointed I couldn't get Johnny Suede though. Arggghhh. Anthony Stewart Head (ASH to his homies) and James Marsters are on Rove tonight, so keep an eye out if you're in the know. Well, I'll be watching. Seriously though, I have mixed feelings about going home. I'm homesick (of course), I think it's the unsettled feeling of knowing that its only temporary, and that eventually I'll wind up back at my real abode. Don't wanna think about the wasted month's rent. Maybe I should just stop procrastinating and just go and pack. Won't take long, it won't cause permanent injury. I may just have to turn up the iPod so next door doesn't hear me motherfuckin scream. Peace.