Now they're complaining about the size of our shipment. Elvis is livid. He has even, in fact, threatened to go back to the States.

And we don't want that. Really we don't.

He came home last night in a foul mood. Which he immediately transferred to me. Admittedly, it wasn't a hard thing to do at that point, since I'd spent all day cleaning and sorting and tossing and hauling.

In the heat, as it happens, as the air conditioner was not working because it was too hot.

Let's repeat that, shall we?

The air conditioning was not working because it was too hot outside.

Yes! The damn thing just can't cope when it gets above 90F or so. Add in a bit of humidity (and there was lots of it yesterday), and it's just overwhelmed. So it blows out a half-hearted attempt at lukewarm air, and continues on with its standard repertoire of leaks and drips and flooding. For about half an hour. Then it starts making a thwip thwip thwip sound that gets unbearably loud, unbearably fast. Serioiusly, you can hear it thwip thwip thwippingwhile actually riding in the elevator at the other end of the building. And when you're actually in the apartment, well.... There's nothing for it but to turn it off, which stops the lukewarm air, but unfortunately not the flooding. After an hour or so, you can reach out a limp, weak arm from the pool of sweat that's accumulated around you, turn the damn thing on, and start the whole process again.

Such fun.

Oh, and my hair seems to be revolting. Or something. It certainly looks revolting.

But I did yet a lot of stuff done yesterday, including the dreaded Linen Closet.

It's a fucking tardis in there.

But it's done. I have piles of food and clothes to lug to the church clogging up the doorway and half the floorspace of the living room. I've emptied and washed the permanent containers and cannisters, sorted out the unopened liquor and shippable bottles from the opened and immediately drinkable. Dusted, wiped, moved stuff around so it can be packed logically.

Enrico brought my wine, by the way. On time, and he even called half an hour ahead so I'd know exactly when he was coming. He says he'll miss me. I'll miss him, too-- and not just because he gives me a discount and delivers for free.

All that's left is to pack our suitcases with whatever we'll be needing for the indeterminate amount of time we'll spend in Lisbon before getting an apartment. I've been thinking about that one, though, and it should be no problem. Half of the problem with that sort of thing is deciding what to take, and I think I've pretty much got that one sorted. Even have the little catbox and a ziplock bag full of litter for Calliope's pooping enjoyment until I can get to the supermarket.

What remains? The vet, and a long wait at the post office to send out our disconnect notices registered mail, which unfortunately for me, I'm not sure how to do. I'll figure it out. Maybe Angie will come stand in line with me, for company and moral support.

I'll ask her at lunch.

Yes, I am going out to lunch. I have had enough of this. I plan to be drinking copious amounts of wine, just in case anyone was going to be clueless enough to ask.