One thing I can count on...

...is that I can't count on anything.

When I wrote about the impending trip last night, I figured I had everything pretty much under control. I had a rough schedule in mind, with lots o' extra time to get everything done.

How wrong I was....

I finished up an article last night intending to give it a fast read this morning and send it off. I was tired, and my eyes were blurring when I saved it.

After waking up at an ungodly hour today -- well, I consider 3:45 am ungodly -- I grabbed my coffee and started reading. In my not-yet-awake state the piece sickened me. It was awful. I was afraid I'd have to scrap it all and start over. Instead, I closed the file and decided to look later, after more coffee and a shower.

The fact that it turned out not to be so bad, and was easily fixed with a few changed words and adjusted sentences, was a relief. But I still had a feeling all would not be well today.

A call from another editor sealed the deal. Tomorrow, instead of haircut and laundry -- and maybe a little writing -- I have to work with D. on a photo session for another story. This involves maybe 100 miles of driving and standing around on a hot mountainside while he shoots. I mean I have to: I need to email the article no later than Monday morning, and D. needs to send a disc of photos before then.

Since I got this gig for D., you might think he'd be grateful and helpful, yes? No. He was supposed to drop me off at the airport Wednesday and pick me up Friday so I didn't have to leave the car I'm driving in a scungy airport lot. Surprise: his girlfriend just decided she wants him to shoot a wedding as a favor (that is, for free) and they will be away Friday.

So the car stays at the airport. That makes me nervous. It would make you nervous to leave an $87,000 ride at the airport, believe me. I'll use one of the private lots (which are safer and more expensive), but it still riles me a bit. D. and I discussed the schedule in detail last Saturday....

My timeline for the week has now been officially shot to hell, and I'm feeling a bit grim about it.

If you, like me, live alone, you're all to aware of how frustrating it can be to have no one who can bail you out when the going gets a bit rough. And you know what it's like to have no one to complain to, or who gives a happy damn abut your suddenly elevated stress level.

All in a day's work, I guess.

But I don't have to like it. And I don't.