I pulled into the driveway and noticed a slip of salmon-colored paper sticking crookedly out of the mailbox. I stopped the car, hopped out of the car and grabbed at it.

Amazon! Delivery! My name and address, written in block letters.

"I didn't want to leave it on the back porch, didn't know if it would be safe." Retrieve package: 8 a.m. Friday at the post office.

There was no problem leaving my digital camera out by the back door - in snowy conditions, no less - but my neighborhood postal worker didn't know if HARRY POTTER would be safe in the same spot? I had to wait until the next morning to pick it up? I couldn't start reading tonight?

I seethed with anger. I seethed my way through the punk show. I seethed my way through flipping through TV channels. I seethed my way through a phone conversation with K - well, when I wasn't busy laughing, that is. And I seethed my way through last night, when I tossed and turned all night (I attribute this lack of sleep to unknown factors, but certainly not the HP void).

Yet I was still smiling brightly at the post office this morning as the package was placed in my hands.

"Thank you so much," I said, looking down at the brown cardboard. "I really appreciate it!"
----------
In other news. I'm exhausted just thinking about what approaches (ever so delightfully) quickly. Two weeks from now (well, two weeks from tonight, anyway), I will have already returned from Manhattan mayhem, traveled to Montreal for Coldplay, returned to Vermont and traveled to Boston for the Ben/Rufus sandwich tour date.

This might just kill me. Or be fantastic. Not quite sure which.