The clutter on the floor and bed is beginning to congeal in piles of items destined for suitcase, rolling carry-on, purse, and second carry-on bag. Deadlines are in flux. (What’s a deadline if it isn’t in flux?) Perspiration glows on my girly face. Rivulets run down my back under my shirt. I’ll sit down for just a moment. I will travel today to my launching off spot down nearer the airport. I’ll take rapid transit to the airport in the morning.
I look for an open spot on the bed. In the only one, I see my glasses. They look a little odd. I pick them up. They are flat, and I’m not referring to having earpieces folded neatly behind the lenses. No, I mean flat, flat, flat. I have no recollection of taking them off, nor any sense of having sat on them, yet that’s the only thing that would flatten them.
I do a little twisting and bending and walk over to the mirror to see how they look. I’m a cartoon character who’s just had her clock cleaned, glasses hanging askew. One eye has a lens to look through. This will not do.
I phone my optician quickly. She answers in two rings; she’ll be there until four. Two hours to stuff the piles into their respective containers. Two hours to load the car. Two hours to write up emergency contact lists for appropriate parties, and a notice to the post office. Worst case scenario, I can race down to her store, them come back for my stuff.
But I get it packed, or, more accurately, crammed into the containers, load it into the car, and get to Stacy’s by quarter to four.
|Fixed. Only slightly the worse for wear.|
* * *
It takes about three days of piles on the floor, making additions and deletions, until I hone in on what I think I can wrangle. This sorting and pondering lasts exactly until the last minute, whenever that is. My original last minute for today was 10 a.m. My airline has always allowed online check-in starting thirty hours in advance of departure, to print the boarding pass, etc. Flight time? 3:45 PM. So I will check in at 9:45 AM.
Then my fellow travelers and I get emails from the airline that our flight is rescheduled to 4:10 PM. I remember to try to check in at 10:25, and there’s a message on the site that check-in can be made up to 24-hours in advance. That’s not until 4:10 PM today. It also means making our connection flight is in jeopardy.
Recalculating, recalculating, recalculating. I know how my GPS feels now. I revise my packing plan to fill the available time. Of course.
I’m not sure how much later it was that I noticed an email from one of my traveling companions that she received an email from the airline that she can print her boarding pass now. I find I have that email too, but haven’t been monitoring my communications media. I have my pass by noon, but I’m packing at a four o’clock departure rate. I have to turn the packing speed on when I sit on the glasses.
I ponder this evening what I have forgotten to do. Off-hand, I didn’t refill the cats’ water tower. I didn’t pooper scoop. I forget to do “Cat Count.” That could be bad. Henley has been in escape mode lately. I packed sloppily in the rush and now I need to do some rearranging so I can access things without pouring them all out.
I have no Internet tonight, so I cannot post this. I cannot add pictures. They’re in my phone and can’t be transferred to The Cloud and thus to my computer.
Except for looking into the sun for three hours, the drive here isn’t bad, but I am definitely tired. I’ll sort in the morning before my ride to the transit station picks me up.
|Into the sunlight|
|Green!!! Someone must be getting water somehow.|