September 6th, 2002:

She missed her flight. There was confusion with the terminal, and where she was supposed to be, and she didn’t get to the ticket counter until 1hr before her flight was to leave. The girl at the counter was rude to her. Asked her why she was crying, and when she said, “because I missed my flight,” the girl said, “well, could you please stop”.

Two of her friends brought her to the airport and, thankfully, one of them has a cousin that lives in Toronto. They will spend the night at her cousin’s house and she will take the next flight out tomorrow, which leaves at 10:10am and gets here at 2:15pm.

She’s very upset, and very sad, and I wish I could make her feel better, but I can’t.

So I freaked out and cleaned the bathroom this morning. All my laundry is done. The bed sheets are currently on their last cycle. The cat box is cleaned. I also freaked out and did my grocery shopping last night. So all that is left is a pile of laundry in the middle of the living room that needs to be folded, OUR bed has to be made, I need to be cleaned, and I have a few little things to pick up at the store. I’ll do those things on my lunch break.

I talked to her this morning. Despite popular belief, she did manage to get up after a late night celebrating her legal-drinking-age birthday. She only ended up bringing one suitcase, one carry on, and her purse. Of course, in true Canadian style, her one suitcase is a hockey bag.

She’ll be here in less than 12 hours.

Wow!