I may have mentioned that planning is a laughable activity these days. Surprising no one, 2020-too is proving the rule, not the exception. This week was to be the start of a two-week holiday jaunt down the coast and east to New Orleans, but omicron and the lack of testing made me think it's best to delay a few weeks.
My s.o. is celebrating a birthday so we relocated to an Airbnb in a nearby neighborhood for a few nights. Or so we thought, until the drunk bro's arrived to party in the unit upstairs. A few hours of yelling, thumping and door slamming later, I complained, which enraged them into further stomping and hollering. At 1 am they pounded on my front door screaming Come outside, so we packed up and left, gunning the rental car onto a foggy dark street, my legs shaking so hard that I had to pull over and take deep breaths. I got my money back and we reconfigured the rest of the weekend but I'm tired and wrung out. My body feels like a couple of wrestlers pummeled me.
On the bright side, there were delicious pastries from a Salvadoran bakery, homemade enchiladas and breakfast tostadas, some long walks with coffee and a joint, and lots of Australian Open tennis.
My only plan now is to enjoy the bright moments in each day, however brief.