Limbo

I detest packing. Despise it. Hate it. Loathe it. Do not like it very much at all.

Today we have been packing up for Saturday's move. I have emptied five dresser drawers into my largest suitcase, wrapped china in newsprint with the kind of caution that stems from fear (if anything chips, it will be *entirely my fault*), and reorganized boxes to my heart's content. All this only serves to remind me of how much there is left to do. As you might know, I am not a fan of upheaval and change. I'm happy when comfortably settled into a new place, sure; it's just that the act of settling, well, unsettles me.

This explains why I am in such a good mood. I mean, technically I have not been packing for the past forty-five minutes. Instead, I have been on hold with Verizon, trying to determine why the orders Ali and I placed for new mobile phones (very necessary, as the old ones have decided that life isn't worth living any more) are stuck in limbo. It's actually my second call; the first woman with whom I spoke, while nice enough, gave me an telephone number that would direct me to the online department, supposedly.

It was the same number I had just called. I hung up and called it again.

I detest being on hold. Despise it. Hate it. Loathe it. Do not like it very much at all. And it seems that all my holding will probably be for naught, as the problem has to be resolved in the Massachusetts office, which is now closed for the day.

But there is a minute silver lining to this wretched stormcloud of an afternoon: my second customer service representative introduced herself as Graciela (which, for the uninitiated, is the name I persist in calling Meg's cat, in homage to a gravelly-voiced five-year-old her friend once met). How can I be too upset when the world so pointedly tries to amuse me?