Why is it that when things go wrong, as they inevitably do from time to time, no matter how many times we try and tell ourselves, it will be OK, we still worry.
As crisis hangs over us like the proverbial dark cloud, we can’t eat, we can’t sleep, we can’t sit, we can’t stand. We can’t concentrate on anything other that on what has just gone wrong.
We call our friends, who dutifully tell us not to worry. Still, it helps to share.
With me, the answer is simple. I’m not in control. And I have to be in control.
So what has happened?
Last night, my laptop crashed again, this is after spending two lots of money on repairs to a machine that’s only just a year old. I can’t take it back under warranty as I can’t be without it for more than 2-3 hours, never mind 2-3 weeks they quote. This is because both my spare laptop and PC are in New York – where I was meant to be. I was trying to book my flight for Montreal which has escalated to £470 since this morning so I thought I‘d better just buy now before it goes up again. It’s not to be.
Then, I try and compensate but I’m disappointed by the Utd v Sunderland draw on Match of the Day. (I love my team but a draw is not exactly a crisis when we are top of the league). I pull myself together and try the laptop again. It’s working and then crashes. I try again a little later to see if I can watch the Jonathan Ross, Streisand special on the iPlayer. It works. I fall blissfully asleep with Barbara still crooning.
This morning, I wake up remembering a disturbing dream, not a nightmare, as I am not trying to get away from anything or anyone and find that my legs don’t work – the usual thing.
It’s about me committing suicide. How odd.
I’m with members of my family and decide I have reached the last straw and I’m tired of life. I take a pill, of the sort those spies swallow when they are apprehended by the enemy who will torture them to make them divulge their secrets. However, my tablet causes a slow painless death and a little while later, I realise life still has some meaning but it’s too late. It’s straight out of Romeo and Juliet. (Again, not a crisis, it’s just a dream).
I’m in the toughest year of my life but I’m still determined, optimistic and looking to the future with great gusto. No doubt dream analysers are coming up with the reasons as they read this.
I get out of bed and can barely stand. I did a fair amount of walking yesterday rather than walk – coffee shop – walk, but I feel like I have run a half marathon. Why?
This morning, now that the laptop is working again, my to-do list says to check the statements for Manhattan Mini Storage who are holding about 30% of all my worldly goods. I’m amazed 2-3 months of me not checking has me owing $350. I left them hanging as they messed me about for 2 months over my shipment to them but they have added charges which more than double my fees. Oh well, my fault for not checking.
Except I notice that they have charged $15 for a ‘notice to sell’ letter. THEY ARE SELLING MY STUFF!
The website is not letting me pay on-line, as I have done before so frantic emails and phone messages ensue but it’s still early in New York. This is the now the point where I can’t sit, can’t stand.
I can’t recall where I filed my agreement and it’s not where everything else is. I go through half of the room before finding my ‘don’t look at this stuff; it will just remind you how much it has cost you not to be back in New York’ box.
I check my agreement and can’t see anything about ‘sell your goods’ on the double sided flimsy sheet. I read it more slowly and there it is; in black and yellow.
My main frustration is why they didn’t just contact me if I wasn’t responding? Clearly all the letters are going to my New York address but we have had hundreds of emails back and forth. I call my friend; nothing she can say but a problem shared…..
Next, a transatlantic call, I get through to the company who eventually put me through to the manager who’s name I have got to know well, Kirk.
All is OK but I can no longer pay on-line. Phew. I can stop shaking with fear of losing even more of what I have left of my 40 years of heard earned accumulation.
I then check my account on-line with Bank of America but can’t get on the website. Another transatlantic call and find out they closed my account at the end of August because I wasn’t responding to my letters, also sent to my New York address.
The penny drops. BOA close my account and few days later, the storage company think I have gone AWOL and send out the letter as they must have received notification they can longer request payments from that account.
It’s not like me not to keep on top of things and I like to think I’m almost back to normal now.
So I type up a fax as Kirk asked for but then my new printer cartridge in my new printer isn’t working. Can’t do much about that on Sunday.
I email Kirk the proposed fax but then scribble the main points onto a blank sheet and fax. It’s not going through.
So I’m not really in the mood for writing today but I do need to get out of the house and decide on the horrid coffee at the local Costa because they have the Sunday papers. Except today when I really feel like lazily skimming through them.
That’s enough for 24 hours.
Still, for an anti-latte coffee lover, I’m enjoying my first Gingerbread latte of the season whilst writing this.
Deep breath. the 24 hours has ended. Let’s see if I can finally go home and book that flight to Montreal for my birthday this month. Oh, and to spend it with my BF. Counting the days…