A lady called the office tonight, screaming and cursing at me because she missed her bus.

Now, normally I have no problems having someone else pick up a "lost" person and take them to where they need to go. However, when the first thing I hear when I pick up the phone is "You fuckers!"... Let's just say that I'm less inclined to help them out.

The bus she wanted was already on the other end of the county. "This was the first pay phone I could get to." Yeah, sure. And since every other bus was already in for the night, I had little option but to have the bus she missed turn around and come back to get her.

The driver agreed to work over to help this lady. I asked where the lady was waiting, informed the driver, and thought that would be the end of it.

But she wasn't there.

After having the bus turn around and travel twenty minutes back in the opposite direction to fine someone who was rude, she was gone. Did she find a ride? Did she tell me the wrong location? Had I misunderstood?

I have no idea.

I'm in a foul mood.

It doesn't help that Aunt Flo is visiting me, either. The cramps started before I went to work, and just got worse from there. My back hurts, my stomach hurts, and I feel like I've been wiped all over the road. I would rather that she comes now, rather than later, though. I hate travelling when I have cramps. It makes everything seem more sucky. By the time Saturday rolls around my cramps should be gone. I hope.

In the next few days, I have to do my laundry, clean up my apartment a little, pack, write out instructions for the guy who'll be taking care of Jaws and Aurora, get some money exchanged into Canadian, and still go to work and sleep. (I wish I could combine those last two. It would be so efficient.) I don't have nearly enough time to do everything.

My sleep schedule is all messed up. I've been going to bed around 3am and getting up around 10 or 11am. My flight leaves at 8:12am Saturday morning, and I'll have to leave here at 6am to have time to check in and foo. Plus, I'm totally stressed out about getting into Canada. I've never flown into Canada, and I don't have a passport. Everyone tells me that all I have to bring is my birth certificate or some other proof of citizenship, but I'm still stressing out. What if, for some reason, they say, "Nope, sorry, you can't come in. You steenking Amereecan. Get out before I bite your kneecaps off."

...and I get thrown into the Ship-Em-Back bus with a bunch of other discards and I have to sit next to a guy named Bob and he talks to me about how McDonalds is going to feed the world with its special meat-producing lights that they say are heat lamps but they really replicate burgers. What if he smells? What if he has lice? What if he has a live chicken sitting on his lap and he calls it Betty and asks me if I want to touch her? What is he's sticky and he touches me?

Plus, since Aunt Flo is visiting, I have the added fear of having my feminine hygine products spread out all over the place if customs decides to search my bags. As a co-worker said today, "It doesn't matter if you've got those things sewn into the lining of your purse... They'll come popping out everywhere. They like to be seen." Exhibitionist tampons. Wonderful. Something else to worry about.

moan whine bitch

But you know what? Every time I think about Dave, all this stuff I have to do (and all this stuff that my worry-system comes up with) just fades away. I'll get to see Dave. I'll get to hug him. I'll get to kiss him. I'll get to lay my head on his chest and just be close him.

I get to see Dave.

Two days is going to seem like an eternity.