The night before the last time I was headed to the airport for a flight to the U.S., I discovered that I was having my third miscarriage, and would be in bad pain and deep sorrow for the following week or so. I was also flying space available, and sending Josh off to go live on a ship on the deep blue sea for a month - so I suppose I need't mention that I was a mess. I leave again tomorrow, a week ahead of Josh, for a West Coast vacation, and I was really looking forward to easy travel this time. We have tickets! On commercial airlines! And people picking us up at the airport and phone lists and rental cars and plans.
Then today happened. So far the bus to the airport filled up within one day, from plenty of seats left to 10 overbooked, and the rental agency finally sent a plumber over to address the leak in one of our walls. To wit:
I took those before he cut giant rectangles out of the sheetrock.
My kitchen cabinets are empty, the pipes are rusted, and it can't be fixed before I leave. We're forbidden the dishwasher, and now I'm on a mission to figure out how on earth to get to the airport by train. Oh, and did I mention I'm saying goodbye to one of my best friends here, who will be moving home to Texas while I'm gone?