Follow that bus

Last Friday I was heading towards Brisbane for an MKP training over the weekend, and then a work conference for four days. I'd packed nearly all my fit-to-be-seen-in clothes into a suitcase.

I left my suitcase on the bus to work.

I ran down the street after the bus, and lost it at the traffic lights. I jumped into a taxi, who refused to follow that bus, until I promised him $20 for the pursuit. I got to Circular Quay, and the bus was nowhere to be found. I phoned up the depot, and they contacted the bus, but the driver reported no massive suitcase sitting in the luggage compartment. As I sat there on the pavement, with no idea what to do, berating myself for the mistake I'd made, frustrated at yet another spawn of chaos I'd generated in my life, despairing that I don't have the money to buy more clothes, I convinced myself my life had fallen apart.

Luckily, I have friends I can call; friends who know how to remind me to breath.

My suitcase was found, and all turned out well, except that somewhere in the midst of recovering my sanity I'd bought a packet of cigarettes.

RCG put up admirably with my smoking: "I don't like you smoking, but I still love you."

I stopped again on Wednesday.