October 3, 2007

Jeff Johnson e-mails from DC that the night for The Loves of Mr. Lincoln has been changed, which renders my flight and hotel reservations useless. I’d bought "vacation insurance" from Expedia, so that I wouldn’t lose piles of money if I had to cancel the trip, as I have had to cancel nearly everything for the last year. It turns out that the "peace of mind" it offers means that you are able to THINK you’re going to get your money back for as long as you don’t actually need to. The peace of mind ends when you actually have to fiddle with the schedule. The woman on one end keeps repeating. "The flight is non-refundable," and you keep saying on your end, "But I bought the damn insurance that’s supposed to handle that." Eventually you give up, because your cell phone battery is dying, and to keep from starting an international incident with India.

Bad day, all in all, agitated, wishing I were doing almost anything but what I am, horny as a teenager, wild with frustration over small things, which probably gather to the big one of not going to Ireland on Friday.

Mickey enters the hospital tomorrow.