Alright, I know I’ve dished out more than my fair share of negative over the past year and I’m working on being more positive and blah blah blah, but THIS:
So today we land at about 8 am after flying all night in Air Niugini economy (small and smelly…aka no decent sleep and ALSO a flight we weren’t supposed to have to be on), and then we make the long trek home over the many-potholed roads of Port Moresby. There’s construction going on right now so it takes like 45 minutes of getting jostled around (where in the world all the taxes they leech from my paycheck go, I sure don’t know, but the roads aren’t it.) Once we arrive at our apartment, it’s drop our bags, shower, and turn right around and head to the office.
(I give all this background to my little tale of rage because CLEARLY I’m tired and running on a short fuse here. Maybe if this had happened any other day it wouldn’t have phased me.)
After about a half days’ worth of work my boss tells me to go home and get some sleep. (For which I am very grateful!) I decide to capitalize on the free afternoon and tell Mr. Engineer I’ll go get groceries (we have no food since we’ve been gone and all) and I’ll get a jump start on the laundry and unpacking.
I snag a car and have the driver take me to the grocery store with the best selection, which is also the one that’s farthest away…we usually only get there on the weekends. We pull into the parking lot and I’m getting out of the car when the driver informs me my apartment is now a no-go zone. And I can’t go home after we go here, so do I really want to buy groceries?
[No-go zones are the "bad" areas of town, as the name would imply. I don't usually live in one. I thought.]
And why had my apartment become a no-go zone, you ask?
BECAUSE THERE WAS AN EFFING BOMB SCARE. At a building in the heart of the CBD (Central Business District), maybe half a mile from us.
I just…I don’t have the energy to express my exasperation. Almost no sleep…all that time in a car for nothing (I know I sound like a whiny brat here but I get SO motion sick on these damn pot-holey roads), and all I wanted was to do LAUNDRY.
LAUNDRY. Not even take a nap, or watch a chick flick, or paint my nails. JUST DO MY DAMN LAUNDRY.
(Oh look! I do have the energy to express my exasperation!)
It kills me that crap like this is becoming more and more commonplace. Not bomb threats specifically (hi dad! don’t worry I’m fine!) but crazy off-the-wall shit you just wouldn’t believe if someone told you. I barely believe it and it and I see/hear about it happen.
Hey look! Here’s a picture where I’m not being all stabby!
(None of these photos have anything to do with my rant, but I have no visual for me being so angry I might scream. Aren’t these more fun?)
That’s all I’ve got. Happy running.