Why do I even effort?

Like, I've spent so much time making it easier for her to pack, and she's fucking putting it off to the last minute. Like. Seriously. If you know where something is, GO FUCKING GRAB IT. It's not that bloody hard. Got laundry that you need? Bring it with you. Put it in a fucking bag. Toiletries? Pack them, and then take them out and use them when you need to in the morning. Cosplay things I fucking know where they are? Why the hell can't you pack them already, you worthless little shit. I made you a list. You made your own goddamn list. It isn't this fucking hard to pack your fucking bag, and you know what still isn't fucking done? Your. Bag. Because you're probably talking to whoever you won't get to talk to for hours on end at night on your dumbass tinychats or whatever, and you're probably playing animal crossing or who the hell knows, all I know is you aren't getting shit done, and it would have taken me a half an hour, maybe forty-five minutes to do all of this. But no. No, nothing can ever be expected to be done if you're doing it. God forbid you actually work on something important. So sorry that I'm not gonna pity you when you're freaking out at the last minute about packing because guess what. I told you to start packing yesterday. My sympathy? Gone.