Another day, another mailbox empty. (My keyboard is typing with an accent today so forgive my accented ès and other oddities.)
I have to admit Ièm started to get worried. Really worried. With the strike happening and a month deadline for the Hosting program, friends going away on vacations, and no mail being delivered. Waiting six weeks for the medical reports (and we still have to get our current family doctor to sign off on them) We are under crunch time, and Ièm starting to panick. I really want the strike to end. I see postal mail carriers wandering the street with their bags carrying little, and I want to jump out of my car and scream at them. Just because it isnèt a goverment check in the mail weère expecting, our mail is more important to us than money. It is a dream of hope, a life changing experience, for both us and the child we are planning on hosting that we are being denied.
I realize that stamping my foot and crying up to the Powers That Be: It is not fair! Is a pointless gesture and one I would be quite embarssed at my age to make, but still... (sigh)
I have learned a long, long time ago life is not fair, and fate has a way of putting kinks in the best laid plans. Nevertheless I will hold onto my hope, pray to God, and while it isnèt fair, I will do my utmost to hold my head, and stand strong against despair.
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