*splat*

Okay. Here’s how it’s all fallen out.

Ted and I aren’t going to Seattle after all. Ted did get the days off–Tuesday through Friday next week–but had to work Saturday the 18th, which meant flying on Tuesday, being there Wednesday, and flying on Thursday so we’d be back Friday morning so he could get to work on Saturday. And all for the low low cost of a minimum of $1208 a ticket.

So instead of horribly discombobulating ourselves for the sake of a single day in Seattle, we’re just going to stay home. I’ll get the movers sorted out, and go down to Cobh hopefully by Tuesday or Wednesday. In the meantime, I’m going to the convention this weekend, and Ted will be up tomorrow so I will get to SEE him, yay! And Mom and Dad and Deirdre and the little boys leave for Seattle on Sunday.

I am _very_ tired. But I’m going over to the hotel the con’s being held at in a while here, to meet whoever’s already in town and to hang out for a couple hours. I went to see Syriana this afternoon, and it was good, but I was sufficiently tired that a couple times I almost fell asleep. Crossy eyes and sort of head falling over stuff. I would say I’m going to be sensible and go to bed early tonigut, but what’s really going to happen is I’ll go to the hotel, perk up because I’m talking, hang out until the bar closes, stagger home, and tomorrow regret not going to bed earlier.

I went shopping today, trying to find some t-shirts to modify for a Rogue t-shirt, but apparently my behind-the-fashion-curve curse has struck again: I could not find, after actually *looking* through four stores (instead of my usual thing of blazing through glancing at racks), any black t-shirts with a bit of lycra to make them fit snugly like that. The In Thing (here, at least) are loose-fitting layered Victoriana sorts of things that look like absolute crap on me. Even if I weighed a hundred and forty pounds I’m just not shaped right for those outfits (and many many people I see wearing them are also not shaped right), and I’ve spent enough money buying things like that and discovering they really do look like crap on me that I don’t need to do it anymore.

But boy it makes me crabby. I *hate* shopping.