So much stress, so little booze.

The house is pretty well packed, I still have no transfer date, and we are evacuating Victorville on Saturday morning. Which means that there’s a distinct possibility I’ll get stuck flying back here, moving in with my mom temporarily, and waiting it out in hopes that I am finally transferred and allowed to move back in with my boyfriend and cats.

The problem with all this moving and packing is that I’m sorely deprived of little luxuries like, say, metal eating utensils and cups not made out of paper.

Today I’ve had an especially bad day, what with the full moon turning people’s already pea-sized brains inside out. They’re howling like wolves, and they’re calling the phone company to act out their animal impulses. In the course of eight hours I’m screamed at, cursed upon, and even threatened by a man in Texas. He is apparently going to take me to court because someone else wrote an order on his account and didn’t disclose the details. And he says I’m not going to be allowed a lawyer.

Hate. Hate. HATE. TEXAS. Mexico, would you like Texas back? I will pay you handsomly should you take it off the United States’ hands. Cash bonus if you put George Bush in a white hick internment camp.

My friend Barbara gets chewed out because she doesn’t speak French. This is a new one. Normally we’re given a hard time for not speaking Spanish, but not French. “For next time,” I tell her, “you can say this: Bonjour, douchebag.” I’m pretty sure “douchebag” is a French word, anyway.

I’m desperate for consolation and finally find it in a Xanax and an old bottle of expensive champagne that Paul and I got when we moved into our house. I have no champagne flutes to pour the bubbly into, so I sip daintily from a juice glass as I pack up a few random leftover items in the bathrooms and laundry room. The cats “help” by getting in all the cabinets to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything.

I glance out the window. The beautiful, warm spring weather is fading fast, leaving me with cold and windy March weather. The weather report on msn calls for rain tomorrow. I like rain. That’s one of the reasons I know I’ll be content in Washington.

If I ever get to move there.

I am hoping to hear something soon. I hate that I can’t control my own fate, that where I live and who I’m with is in the hands of my employer.

I yawn, and realize it’s nearly eleven so I head for bed. The kitties rush into the bedroom with me and pile around me as I settle under the covers. I can’t help but smile as they begin a chorus of purrs and settle in for the night.

The clouds roll in, hiding the bright full moon. Perhaps this will deflect the crazies as well?

I can only hope.

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