In the buildup to any trip, no matter how big or small, I start to think too much. There are decisions to be made. Suitcases to dig out. Toiletries to assemble. I get so many ideas in my head of what I need to be doing, and, rather than writing them down in a list and checking them off one by one, offering myself the option of that miracle they call "A Sense Of Completion," I let these thoughts swarm around in my head, gather speed and strength, and become monster thoughts. Beasts of burden. Daunting, ready to pull me into the deep.

I'm about to embark on three separate trips over the next three weeks, and in my head is a veritable Monterey Bay Aquarium of "to-do"s.

I'm trying to get them out of the way one at a time.

I start by looking to San Francisco, and to Didion. I'm packing again. So I find the list, the one in The White Album.

TO PACK AND WEAR:
2 skirts
2 jerseys or leotards
1 pullover sweater
2 pair shoes
stockings
bra
nightgown, robe, slippers
cigarettes
bourbon
bag with:
shampoo
toothbrush and paste
Basis soap
razor, deodorant
aspirin, prescriptions, Tampax
face cream, powder, baby oil

TO CARRY:
mohair throw
typewriter
2 legal pads and pens
files
house key

The list that she kept taped inside of her closet while she was reporting that let her pack without thinking. And I really need to stop thinking right now, because as soon as I start thinking, the thoughts begin their laps, round and round, muddying the waters.

What do I wear. What do I wear. Where's my passport. How am I getting to JFK. What do I wear.

Get these things out of the way, one at a time. And so I begin to assemble, for myself, 2 skirts, 2 jerseys or leotards...