After a slight panic attack today, picturing boxes of my books slung unopened in the corner of some stranger's garage, I decided that I'd waited as long as I could. So I emailed someone at my publisher to see if they could track my books and see whose garage they ended up in.
Fortunately, the answer is not as complicated as the garage scenario.
Apparently there was some confusion and I was given the date the books were being shipped from the printer to the publisher, not the publisher to me. So... they're still a couple of weeks out.
Patience, grasshopper. Patience, grasshopper. (It's my new mantra.)
It could be worse. At least I won't be arrested for being caught prowling around my neighbor's garages at night.
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4 comments:
Oh, didn't I tell you. Since I couldn't manage to pilfer your Whitney, I settled for misdirecting your box of books, instead. They're in my garage.
ahh! the agony of waiting! what a cruel joke they played on you! They are probably sitting there laughing at you. They wondered how long it would take for you to call and ask. :)
Sarah M Eden! I am thoroughly ashamed of you! All that was missing was the melodramatic, evil villian laugh. Bwahahahahah! Oh, and I laughed really hard, by the way.
Wonder who won the office pool for guessing how many days it would take me to crack?
What a relief huh? Kind of like when I know I need to go to the doctor or dentist but put it off forever, and then I finally make the phone call, keep the appointment, and it is such a relief to know I don't have cancer or heart disease or need a root canal. All that time spent stressing out!
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