The Saga continues.

I write to you here in Toronto Pearson Airport, at approx. 5:54 in the evening.


After all the pathos of the last few days, I'd finally made it to the airport, and on a plane. I arrived yesterday afternoon to Sao Paolo... To learn that my flight to Washington was delayed... By nearly 3.5 hours. My connection to Toronto had to be rebooked. Though I arrived in Washington at 9:30 in the morning, the next available flight to Toronto wasn't until 12:55 in the afternoon, putting me into Toronto at 2:15.

No bath, no nap, parents only for a few hours.

The hits were, by now, piling up considerably.

I was a bit tight-chested for a bit, but I Skyped with my sister, watched a touching childhood movie, and  talked myself into positivity. Things could still be worse, I should be glad I wasn't missing my flight to London or Capetown.

At about 12:15am, I was finally on board to Washington, and passed the night half sleeping, and the morning watching Big Bang Theory.

In Toronto, I didn't get my luggage.


Sorry, I'll clarify. I received one of my bags... The small one, mostly packed with souvenirs for my parents to take home for me.

That... was the last of it for me.

I know I was tearing (and trying desperately to hide it) while I filled out the claim and explained to the VERY patient service agent that I needed to catch another international flight this evening, and that I needed my luggage sent on to me there. It's now arranged that almost all my clothes, toiletries, towel, etc. will be on the next available flight to Capetown, which may or may not a few days after I get there. Between the waiting for luggage, the service agent, customs, and needing another person to confirm the sending on of luggage, by the time I walked out into the terminal it was nearly 3:30, another hour gone that I could have spent with my parents, and when I saw my Father waving I completely burst into tears at the utterly overwhelming madness of my last 48 hours.

I ranted, through snot and tears, about whether or not I was going to die in South Africa, or the plane was going to blow up, and maybe I was missing some cosmic sign and why did this keep happening to me?

My parents were gold about it all, of course. A caesar was fetched, encouraging words were spoken, and the extra suitcase to transfer home my detritus from Chile and Brazil were traded for mail, chocolate bars, and a few new non-smelly t-shirts. Life improved enormously. We checked me in, they fed me dinner and another ceasar, and after a too-short meeting I headed through security, played around on my computer, and went through boarding, onto plane, no trouble.

Until we STAYED on plane for over an hour and a half, getting periodic updates about "engine trouble" and were eventually deplaned until the engineers are finished working on it. Apparently, a peice must be replaced, and they were able to get it from Air Canada, and the problem is easy to fix- but the after testing process is "lengthy", so they will "Keep us posted".  It is now an hour and a bit later, and I'm on my computer, exhausted to the point of aching eyeballs, and feeling a bizarre mixture of my new-found nerve trying to fight down my desire to wallow in self pity and comfort myself through depression and familiar angst.

Bugger angst!

My sister did basic training- I can do this! I can handle four days of sleeping poorly under flourescent lights and being jerked around by the capricious, mercurial hand of fortune! I will get to Africa, and if I don't have my luggage, then screw the luggage! I will buy clothes if I have to! I have my toiletries, I have my flats, and at least a handful of underthings!

YOU HEAR THIS, LIFE?

TRY ME! I DON'T CARE IF IT'S IN A WEEK SUFFERING DEHYDRATION AND SLEEP-DEPRIVATION-PSYCHOSIS, I WILL GET THERE, AND I WILL DAMN WELL THRIVE!