Dude! Where's My Container?

It's been seventy days since I've slept in my own bed.

I've never been big on the acquisition of material possessions (with the notable exception of Apple products) but I really, really miss my stuff. The trouble is that nobody can give me a date as to when I might see it again.

Our container was supposed to arrive into the port of Auckland last Friday but unfortunately, the port workers voted to strike THE DAY BEFORE and thus, our belongings were diverted to another port further south. Apparently, they have been railed back up here and now, they will be COMPLETELY unloaded, inspected by MAF and then put into an "approved" trailer for delivery to the Auckland suburbs. The costs associated with the aforementioned steps were not included in the head-shaking amount we have already paid.

But at this point, Dallas and I just look at one another and giggle.

In fact, regardless of how much money we are hemorrhaging, at this point, I would pay just about anything to have my king size bed back. Why?

a) My husband is a first class bed hog and we are sharing a queen on loan to us.

b) Living in limbo is what I imagine purgatory will be like.

And

c) Both of us have been medicating with food lately. Bumping bellies in the middle of the night is not sexy.

The first couple of days in our new digs, we were giddy with the newness of it all and the fact that we had stopped siphoning my in laws' resources. Now, two and a half weeks later, the infatuation with our view has eased just a smidgen and we've noticed a few flaws that are bound to drive us me mental somewhere down the road.

The truth is, I need my furniture.

I need for my kitchen to be fully functional.

I really need my fat clothes.

Amen.