Have Air Bed, Will Travel

I'm in Ithaca. This is my room for the summer. My traveling companion, Coyote, is taking the bed for the night so I'm on my handy air mattress, which usually lives in my car's trunk in case of emergencies, but packed neatly into my hiking backpack that got checked.

To my right is a large stack of books that I purchased courtesy of the awesome Cornell list serve and graduating seniors-- they are mainly anatomy books, a histology book, immunology, cell biology, microbiology, a veterinary dictionary and one whopping vegetarian cookbook (one has to eat, right?)

Simon doesn't approve of his new digs as much as the screen porch he inhabited this morning, but he is happy to get some attention and love and is now curled up next to me while I write this.

Lest you get the vastly mistaken impression that all has been smooth sailing, I will admit I had a near meltdown earlier this evening. This event was precipitated by my lack of sleep (all week leading up to the move and then getting about three hours sleep on the five hour flight from San Jose to JFK), my lack of food (I had two square meals in the previous thirty plus hours), my inability to navigate Ithaca (I drove for almost forty-five minutes to find downtown, let alone a parking space, since so many streets were blocked off for the Ithaca Festival), my sense of being overwhelmed by the number of veterinary books in my room (most are textbooks and binders belonging to the student from whom I am subletting) and a general feeling that I am completely inadequate to be going to vet school at Cornell. There, I said it.

This situation was ameliorated by a meal at the world famous Moosewood restaurant. On the way from the parking lot to the restaurant, I asked Coyote if we should note the cross streets in order to find the car again. She said it wouldn't be a problem so I didn't look.

Coyote then proceeded to drink a Screwy Moose (don't ask me, I don't drink).

We checked out the Ithaca festival, but when we were ready to leave we couldn't find the car.

The parking garage had mysteriously disappeared. It wasn't where we left it.

Coyote hypothesized that someone changed the map posted at the entrance to the Ithaca Commons and moved the garage all while we were busy eating dinner.

I laughed.

She then said, "We're screwed."

I laughed again.

She then said, "In reality, we don't know where the car is."

I soberly let this fact sink in.

I think it was only her presence and humor that prevented sheer panic from setting in.

We wandered around some more, lamenting the missing parking garage.

And then, somehow, we stumbled upon it. (Coyote would like to take full credit for this fortuitous event, but I think it was somewhat luck).

Of course, once we had located the parking garage, we still had to locate the car, which being a rental, was only vaguely recognizable to either of us.

On the stairs up to the parking deck, I said gleefully, my stressed mind racing ahead, "So tomorrow our plan is to find a blue jay and I'm going to look at two houses."

Coyote replied, "Wait, first let's find the car. Keep it simple!"

Right, when will I learn to live in the moment and not borrow trouble?