When it rains, it pours, pours, pours

Usually any time anyone calls me, I have nothing planned and am up for fun. For someone who loves plans, I usually go pretty much with the flow of things. I’m not a busy person!

Then came this fall. I’m going to Rock the Universe September 4-7 in Orlando. I’m heading to Missouri on September 19-21 for some family time, a baby shower for the nephew, and my brother’s ordination. I leave the next day, September 22 for FOLIO in Chicago. Since I’m in Missouri, I’ll have to leave from there. (Remember that fact. It’ll be important later.)

And it appears, dear readers, that I’ll also be traveling—to Baltimore, MD, a city whose only redeeming factor is the presence of one Michael Phelps—for an ec focus group either September 29-30 or September 30-October 1. That’s right. I may get to be stuck in that infernal airport on MY BIRTHDAY! (I think this year is just destined to be cursed.)

Today, someone in another area made my travel arrangements for one of my trips. I had previously very clearly explained the need to return to the city I was flying out of. Which was NOT Nashville. Because I won’t even be anywhere near here at that point. Well, she got the destination city right. But the itinerary now has me flying back to. . . .wait for it. . . Nashville.

My car, mind you, will be in St. Louis. My dog, dear friends, will be in Southeast Missouri. Thing is, I told everyone involved that I needed to fly back to wherever my flight originated from, be it Memphis or St. Louis, since it was one or the other for awhile.

And the kicker: it’s somehow now become my problem to fix. Fun times.

Frustration of frustrations. That’s my life at the moment.

This too shall pass, right?