So, my sister will be spending the night. It’s an unplanned visit, the result of a misspelling of our last name. I don’t have all of the details, just enough to know that I have to be at the airport at 22:15 tonight. When I have to be back there in the morning is still an unknown.
I’m excited to see her. I know she’ll be pissed off that her travel plans got royally fucked up because of such a small error. She’s a busy woman with things to do and a tight schedule.
Me, I’m frantically trying to clean my apartment. I need at least 48 hours of notice if I’m to have any visitors. A mere five is hardly sufficient. I did put my sheets in the wash, so she’ll have that comfort, at least.
If we’re the same, it’s because we get right pissed off when things don’t go our way. If we’re different, it’s because she has a plan in place that went awry and I didn’t plan well enough. However we got there, everybody even tangentially responsible for us not getting our way is a complete, utter, and unforgivable moron.
After spitting a few verses on the failings of society, her shaking her head and me punctuating every idea with, “I don’t know, man,” we’ll eventually calm down. We’re not begrudging people.
I think we suffer from a cognitive dissonance, of sorts, in which we’re at once betrayed and apologetic or incensed and aware of the absurdity. I’m not sure how much better my sister is at working herself out of this state than I am. I can be wrapped up in an idea for a few minutes or up to a few years.
Tonight, however, I don’t have the time to worry about what happened or why it did. I have only half an hour left before I have to leave for the airport. In that time, I have to eat something, do some dishes, and blow up an air mattress. With any luck, she’ll get in late and, in a strange reversal of roles, I’ll be waiting for her.