Warning. Major rant and lots of cursing.
Damn, damn, damn. The whole fucking universe is clearly conspiring to keep me from being able to get on that plane on the 23rd. It took me months to work up the nerve—I hate flying, especially longer than an hour or two and over water—to decide to go to the WorldCon, and then the bad luck started pouring in. First, our dog fell ill, making me extremely worried about leaving him for any extended time. That almost meant an immediate cancellation, but I decided that maybe I can give it a try anyhow. Then, a few days ago, we find out that the airline we’re on may be striking just around when we’re flying. No way in hell I am going to the US if I risk being stuck there for even one day longer than planned.
And now, of course, the bloody security situation. Not even a gun pointed to my head will get me on a plane without a carry-on containing everything I need for a flight that is about 8 hours too long for my tastes. And especially not a flight to the fricking US, which I really had hoped not to set foot in until the current government and its supporters had been buried deep down somewhere where they’re not polluting the ground. Its to a large part their damn fault, after all, that things are the way they are. Too bad the damned terrorists aren’t spending all their efforts on plots to blow up Bush and his gang of fascist war criminals.
Then again, all this could also be my fault, because whenever I make big plans, everything that can go wrong will go wrong. If I do make my way to the airport on the 23rd, I fully expect a meteorite to take out Los Angeles before we arrive.