New Home ... and Amtrak Needs to Fire Julie - Seriously

I am now a homeowner, back in her apartment, eating a comfort-food dinner of lemon-peppered corn and kale, trying to figure out where to jump first.   Packing, driving an hour to Seabrook, cleaning ... in between running to the bank, disposing of sharps, buying cleaning supplies, calling the doctor, preparing for a trip to New York City?  I’m listening to Renato Zero, Gianni Morandi and Massimo Ranieri ... the standards from my pre-Il Volo days ... packing up cat miscellany – food, liners, carriers – to donate to Bulgers.

I was stunned when an act as innocuous as preparing to donate the cat carriers, liners, food and litter to Bulgers just about killed me.  Instead of doing that, I came home with everything still in the car, choked up, and slept off the impending emotional meltdown.  I did donate everything to the vet the next morning, but it wasn’t easy and I bawled all the way back home.

And I STILL don’t feel any resistance between my hands!  This is driving me bat-shit crazy.

That said ... I am really working on my temper and frustration level when things don’t go the way I want them to.  I am not at my best in a state of chaos, and if there is one thing I can say about the last week or so ... utter chaos.  I also often forgot which day of the week it was ... which meant things like:  I came home last night from an exhausting day doing a home inspection #2 with Dana and buying appliances and thinking I had a full day to recuperate and pack for the trip to New York.

I was a day off.

I got a phone message from Amtrak telling me “Your train reservation for tomorrow has been cancelled; we put you on another train.”  I screamed “Tomorrow??!!??” and called them frantically.  I had been sure it was the 25th.  Nope, the 26th.  Il Volo’s concert was the 27th.  Naturally, I sat through at least fifteen minutes of crap spewed by their “virtual assistant” – Julie, I think her “name” is – to the point where I was screaming, “Shut the *(&*(^& up, you freaking %^&*%^!!”  Finally I got a live human being who, in response to my saying, “I can’t find the reservation number,” asked:  “What’s your reservation number?”  I could barely think of anything polite to say to that.

Turns out there is some sort of electrical failure which shut down all the Acela trains between New York and Boston.  I was unceremoniously tossed out of first class and into business – complete with refund, but I would rather have the first class seat.  My typical reaction would be, “Naturally.  The one weekend I need peace and tranquility between here and New York, the Sky Sadist goes and fucks it up.  Thanks, you miserable *($%^.

The day to recover disappeared and I frantically tried to pull all of my hotel, train and ticket reservations together.  I tried to focus on the things that HAD gone right:  i.e., the washing machine in Seabrook had worked so I had clean clothes; at least I had come into the study and listened to the messages as opposed to going straight to bed and being hit with the shocking news first thing in the morning – very unlike me, but I really did try to find the blessings as opposed to the curse.