Whiiiiine

Oh Christ, where do I start? First, thanks to everyone who checked in on me after the blog disappeared for a while. I'm alive and well, mostly. Seattle was great. Went canoeing, went to the beach, had sushi, hot tubbed. Had friends waiting for me in Madrid and getting into the apartment we rented there ended up being a nightmare, but aside from that the three extra days in the US weren't really a problem.

The problem was that, three days later, getting back to Spain still meant getting through Heathrow and the carry-on restrictions hadn't yet been relaxed. So I checked everything. I am so fucking cooperative when given no other choice. Never ever ever ever ever ever ever check luggage. Of course they lost my bag. They lost everyone's bag.

And, two days later, my bag is found but still in London.

At about hour 27 of the trip, I finally left the Madrid airport, dutifully carrying my clear plastic bag with my passport, cash, credit cards, tampons, and some Excedrin I'd smuggled on the plane (don't tell). And nothing else. No public transportation at 3am, so I shelled out for a cab. I did magically find my friends without the aid of my phone which, in the middle of this debacle, was a little piece of incredibly good luck. Sleeping on the street in our neighborhood would have been pretty horrible.

Tuesday was mostly a write-off--slept all day. No one answered at any of the baggage claim phone numbers. So today I trucked back to the airport. FUCK the Madrid metro. Fuck it. The stop near our apartment is closed. To get to the airport you have to get off the metro, take a bus, and get back on. You're always changing lines. It's slow. Fuck it. Then once you get to the airport stop you have to take another bus on the highway, in traffic, to get to Terminal 4. Who designed this?

I'm in survival mode: I don't even try speaking Spanish to the Spanish staff at the British Airways counter, except to confirm that they speak English. They make a phone call, hand me the phone, and leave me on hold for a while. I'm surprised by how well I can understand one of the desk clerks flirting with another customer; maybe I should have done the negotiation in Spanish after all. He tries to draw me into their conversation and I'm glad I've temporarily forgotten how to speak Spanish. I've been wearing the same underwear for three days--I can't be charming under these conditions.

Someone finally answers they phone. They've found my bag. In London. Call back tomorrow. So. Not only do I still lack all of my possessions except those in my Ziplock bag, but I have to get right back on the fucking subway. After I take the bus on the highway to the subway. I'm starting to feel defeated.

What's keeping me sane are my friends here who are both good sanity checks as well as approximately my size. That counts for a lot.