My Problems Are Bigger and More Important Than Yours
Daniel:what's your schedule the next few weeks?
Daniel:how come every time i ask that, you disappear??? WHY???
me:THAT QUESTION STRESSES ME OUT
I don't have an answer yet
I'm going to cry because I have two packages that are stranded with items that I very much want
And the post office is the least helpful/accessible place.
Daniel:i'm sorry :(
with a SLASH
me:GOD FUCKING DAMN IT. So the one day that I decided I would go on the 45 minute (one way) walk to the Post Office to pick up this package I got halfway there, looked at the form again, and saw that the hours were inexplicably 8-noon.
me:So I had to turn around and was pissed because as a working lady, when am I ever going to be able to get there!
But NOW I'm looking online and it says the hours are 8 to 6!
me:And I totally would go after work today, but I left the slip at home and that would add another 30 minutes so I'd miss the 6pm closing.
So now I gotta go TOMORROW.
FUCK THIS SHIT
me:Not your fault that this is NOT CLEAR.
i feel that way a lot though
me:Sorry for everything?
so much crappy stuff happens to people all the time!
Daniel:and i feel sorry for it all
me:Want to hear me complain about the OTHER package?
me:So I ordered these shoes maybe 1 month ago.
And since it was online, I was merrily going along all the steps, filling in the appropriate boxes and whatnot.
When all of sudden, my transaction is complete EVEN THOUGH I HADN'T PUT IN A SHIPPING ADDRESS.
So of course I was like wtf.
What possible address could they be sending it to?
me:I thought maybe they just assumed my billing address (in VA), which would be fine, cuz I'd just pick it up at home. No problem.
But THEN I get the confirmation email being all "Oh, no, it's 115 Hope St."
Uhhh UPDATE. I don't live there anymore, dumb butts.
So I replied to the confirmation email being like, "NO NO WAIT. DON'T SEND IT THERE BECAUSE THEN I'LL HAVE TO EMAIL ONE OF THE SUBLETTERS WHO SUCK TO BE LIKE, 'HOLD MY PACKAGE'!!!!!!"
Then 12 HOURS LATER I get a reply saying, "Nope, too late. It's going there. Deal with it."
I was pissed off to say the least. THIS IS AMERICA. Get me my goddamn package wherever I am and I'll pay you!
So then I thought it would get to the house and I'd call in a Britt favor and ask her to pick it up and hold it for me until the next time I see her.
But I see while I'm tracking it online that it FAILED to be signed for, so they're holding it at the post office.
And now the post office website tells me that their redelivery service won't go to a new address.
THEY MUST BE SHITTING ME.
In fact, I know they are.
So now I gotta figure out a way to get up to Providence for THESE GODDAMNED SHOES.
But in the meantime there are outfits that cannot be worn yet without them.
Outfits whose sole existences rely on the presence of these shoes.
It’s lovely just here now in the midst of night: cool. I take back some of my imprecations, some. I turn the fan off. The twenty-score people who count on me for tomorrow probably will be satisfied. Maybe I will. The summer has been rough,
I’ve booked our passage to a greener scene and there my soul is earning. My insulted body though still is earning here. My o’ertaxed brain, in its units, hangs on between. It even keeps an office hour, a strange lady rang up today to know when.
We’ll do our best for the lady and the hundreds and we will do our best for the cause of the brain though sea-foam tugs eastward my heart, my manuscripts are ready for transport, and suddenly it all seems quite sane to a man who has rolled up the rugs.
I move into my Greenpoint apartment the second week of September. In my mind, I’m beginning a whirlwind New York year wherein I build a gargantuan rolodex and get to date guys that look like Jerry Seinfeld. It’s what there is for attractive girls to do, apparently: slip their hands in his jeans pockets and hope he doesn’t find out about their single flaw. I also plan to blog a lot.