I’m cursed. Or Kevin…

I'm cursed. Or Kevin is. I'm not sure.

So you know that he only had two days between the end of his Israel conference and the time when he had to leave for Chicago, right? So that meant that I got to do about half of packing up his apartment by myself. No picnic, but manageable. If that had been the only thing...

Then his flight back on Monday was delayed. And delayed. And delayed. While he sat in the plane. For five hours. Without dinner. And finally cancelled. At 11 p.m. No, they weren't going to put him up for the night. Then his flight on Tuesday was delayed. Finally he arrived. But they'd lost his luggage. It should be on the next flight in. No, well, maybe the one after that? No? Well, there's one more at 11 p.m. tonight... No? Better try tomorrow, sir. (But we're driving to Chicago Wed. morning, and all my summer clothes and my computer are in there....that's just too bad, isn't it? (why he *checked* his computer is another question entirely, but anyway...))

We finally hit the road Thursday. Couldn't ship his boxes before leaving because UPS needs you to have them packed and weighed and measured by 4:30 the day before (which would have been Tuesday on the original schedule, which just wasn't gonna happen) and then you need to sit there from 9 a.m. to 7 p.m. on the day of pick-up, which would have been Wednesday, which was the day we were supposed to leave for Chicago. And by the time we knew the luggage wasn't arriving 'til Wednesday, it was too late on Tuesday to call UPS.

The drive was mostly uneventful, though painful. The traffic in Chicago -- argh. The trips to and from IKEA you know about. The lugging of heavy furniture boxes and painful attempts at assembly, ditto. Random other small problems not even worth detailing. Finally I come home. You would think it would be over, eh?

This Wednesday, I competently finished labelling the boxes. I called UPS. I scheduled a pick-up. The lady even complimented me on how organized I was. They were to come between 9 a.m. and 7 p.m. on Thursday. (You can see where this is going, no?)

I waited. I read a book. I did some work. Paul came to visit. I couldn't log in because Kevin's phone line had been turned off already. I called people on the cell phone. I checked mail occasionally through that, but it would have been far too difficult to reply using a phone keypad. I waited. I waited some more. I waited ten hours. At 7 p.m. I called UPS. They said the guys were probably just late. At 7:30 I called them again. They said they'd put an urgent call through to my local center. At 7:55 my local center called back and said that the guys had come by at 2:19. This was patently untrue since I had not left the damn building since 8:30 a.m. that morning. I informed them of this. They asked if there was a little yellow UPS note on the door. I told them there wasn't, and not on the downstairs door either. They apologized and said that someone would call me today, and asked when would be a good time, and we set up 11:15. It's noon now. No call. I'm trying to be calm so that I can not either yell or break down when I talk to them. I *refuse* to sit there another ten hours. Have I mentioned that the landlord keeps asking me when Kevin's stuff will be out of there?

Oh, and I dropped an exercise machine on my head Wednesday. Almost forgot that. I've got a huge lump on my forehead.

Cursed, I tell ya.

2:10. Well, the curse appears to be abating. Though I won't bet on it. UPS says that they'll call me half an hour before they're going to pick-up at Kevin's, so I don't have to sit there. I'm perfectly happy to sit at home. :-)

And I'll be doing a brief radio spot on KSEX radio at 3:15 California time, if any of you care to tune in. So that's good.

And finally, I cleared up my bathroom. My entire apartment is in a state of higgledy-piggledy -- there wasn't a single neat room in the place, never mind actually clean. I had no idea how much that was bothering me until I straightened up my bathroom -- suddenly I felt much better. I foresee much cleaning in my future.

And I finished reading Meera Syal's Anita and Me, which is a really good book about a first generation Punjabi girl in Britain (Syal is also the screenwriter for the film Bhaji on the Beach, which I hear is really good). That was satisfying. I've now started Michael Swanwick's Nebula-winning Stations of the Tide -- pretty good so far. Good sense of wonder stuff. We'll see how it goes, but I really enjoyed his Iron Dragon's Daughter, so I expect to like this.

And I only have 1(!) message left to deal with in my secondary account. There are still 45 waiting in the primary one, but still. It's progress.

If I can just have three days in which *nothing* goes horribly wrong, I think I'll be okay.

And James, thanks for the chocolates. They helped.

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