Packing, Planning, and Not Becoming a Feral Raccoon

Packing, Planning, and Not Becoming a Feral Raccoon

🌼 Date: Saturday, June 20, 2026

⚡ Energy: Organized in theory, tired in reality

💝 Status: Camping lists have officially entered the chat

😪 Outlook: This year, we are packing in baby steps because burnout is not invited

We leave for the beach at the end of this week, and today I decided I need to approach packing differently this year.

Normally, I would probably wait until the day before we leave, then go into full tornado mode.

You know the kind.

Lists everywhere.

Laundry going.

Food being packed.

Toiletries being checked.

Dogs staring at me like I have personally disrupted their entire emotional support schedule.

Me running around trying to remember chargers, pillows, medications, shoes, snacks, clothes, dog stuff, and whatever else my brain decides to forget until we are already halfway to the coast.

But this year?

Nope.

This year, my body does not have that kind of energy budget.

I cannot afford to burn myself out before we even leave.

So today was all about getting organized.

The notepad came out.

The lists were started.

And yes, there are multiple lists because apparently this is who I am now.

There is a list for dinners while we are camping.

There is a list of food we already have at the house that needs to go into the fifth wheel.

There is a grocery shopping list.

There is a list for all my protein powder, protein drinks, and protein bars because cancer recovery does not care that I am going on vacation.

Apparently my body would still like me to keep aiming for as close to 100 grams of protein a day as I can.

Rude, but fair.

There is also a list of random things to grab from the house.

Phone chargers.

Pillows.

My favorite blanket.

And this year, the new cancer-life additions.

Thermometer.

Extra medications.

Hats.

Scarves.

Gloves.

Because the weather at the beach is not exactly looking like warm, sunny, sit-outside-in-a-tank-top weather for the ten days we will be there.

Apparently we are packing for beach camping and possible mild Arctic survival.

Cool.

There is also a list for all the puppy stuff.

Because Maizy and Gidget have needs.

Food.

Treats.

Beds.

Leashes.

Blankets.

Probably emotional support everything.

And since Maizy has recently proven she is fully capable of attempting to start a new life four driveways down the road, we will be making sure the puppy supplies are handled.

This year, I also want to get some 4th of July decorations for our campsite.

Because if I am going to be tired, mildly immunocompromised, hormone-blocked, and wrapped in layers at the coast, I might as well do it with festive decorations.

After I made the lists, I went out to the fifth wheel to take stock of what was already in there.

We do try to keep some things stocked, but it has been a while since we used it, and with my brain operating in fog mode, I do not trust myself to remember what is in there and what is not.

Cancer brain plus camping prep is not a trustworthy partnership.

That is how you end up with six bottles of mustard and no shampoo.

Or three phone chargers and no actual phone cord.

Or enough paper plates to feed a church picnic but no clean socks.

So I checked.

I crossed things off.

I made notes.

I tried to be realistic.

And then I took a break.

Because that is the other thing I am trying to do differently this year.

Stop before I crash.

What a concept.

Old Tina would have kept going until everything was done.

Current Tina has learned that “just one more thing” can quickly turn into “congratulations, you have ruined tomorrow.”

And this week is going to be busy.

Packing.

Appointments.

Food planning.

Laundry.

Errands.

Blog catch-up.

Trying not to forget anything important.

Trying not to let my body stage another revolt.

Trying to get ready for ten days at the beach without arriving completely wrecked.

So yes, I am packing in baby steps.

One list at a time.

One category at a time.

One trip to the fifth wheel at a time.

One rest break at a time.

This is not laziness.

This is strategy.

This is cancer recovery logistics.

This is me learning that I cannot treat my body like it has unlimited spoons when it is clearly working with a very dramatic plastic fork.

We are going to get there.

The fifth wheel will get packed.

The puppies will have their stuff.

The protein drinks will make the trip.

The 4th of July decorations will happen.

And I will not become a feral raccoon with a packing list the night before we leave.

At least that is the goal.

Tiny Tina is beach-bound.

Slowly.

Carefully.

With lists.

Lots and lots of lists.

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💗 Tina –
One Badass Day at a Time