Sometimes I wonder.

How did I even get here?
 OK, maybe nothing that "soul searching"  or any such malarkey.  I just used that word "malarkey"  yesterday,  didn't I?
 Maybe that's significant.
 Here's the thing.  Come Easter Weekend,  Travelling Companion and I are going to Rome.   The one in Italy,  not New York.
 So,  back in March,  after a brief discussion about actually taking some time off and some such miracles,  the first order of business was to book a flight.   Got it.   The evidence of which is posted up on our little cork board next to the kitchen cupboards.  I find I need something tangible,  like some sort of piece of paper.
That whole "paperless society" isn't really in my future I'm afraid.
Well,  with the exception of all our bills here in Wienerland.  Everyone does a pretty good job of quite simply taking the money directly out of our account.   Except for speeding tickets.  I have to show up at the bank for those.  Thankfully none of the clerks I've had so far have felt it necessary to judge.  Probably since speeding tickets are a pretty lucrative cash crop in most parts of Europe,  and they're used to seeing customers come in to pony up 30 or 40 Euros for being like,  12 over.
 Want to send my boarding pass to my crack-berry or smart cell phone?   Um ya,  first I'd need to get the technology,  and then I'd have to figure out how to actually get the information.  I'm pretty content (well,  amazed actually) with the idea that I can print my boarding pass off at home,  and if that doesn't work,  I'll show up at the check-in counter and you can print my boarding pass, just like any other Schmo.
It's OK,  really.
So where was I?
Right.  Rome.

 So then I thought,  I'd better just check on that hotel I was looking at.   Hm,  where's the piece of paper for that one?
No paper.
Slight panic.
Checked my email account.   No confirmation type email.   Checked all folders.   Checked "travel stuff" file on the drive.   Nothing.
Slightly increased panic.

We got no place to stay!   Gah!!
Extreme tightening of the anal sphincter!
 
I thought I booked something!  Wouldn't I have booked something?
Why didn't I book something?

*sigh*

So fine,  after a couple deep breaths, I go on to Booking.com (great site by the way)  and after some looking around and reading reviews and other such tedium,  I find and book a decent hotel.   Of course,  any of the places near Vatican City are booked,  since it's Easter Weekend.   Who knew?
So.... there we go!
Continue breathing.  Ease the tension in other "departments".

Feeling pretty good now.  
Everything is in order,  and then I happen to think that,  since I had to sign in to my account on Booking.com to perform this slight miracle,  maybe I'll just click on the link that says,  "my bookings"  just to make sure all is in order.   Meanwhile,  an email had indeed been sent to my account,  and I had printed out the info.
Remember the "paper"  thing?
Now, have you ever had that entirely sinking feeling?  Like when you're driving along and suddenly stepping on the gas pedal gives no results?  Only silence?  Or you feel a slight breeze and realise you've torn out the ass in your trousers?  And it's a rented Tux?
That one?
Well it turns out,  I HAD booked the flippin' hotel,  back on March 19th!  *gasp*!
There it was.  Plain as day.
Now what?    Can't be in two places at once!   Nor do we want to pay for two places! 

Back to slight panic.

Ah,  but wait!
No need to bring the sphincter into this since,  with certain bookings on Booking.com,   you can cancel your booking at any time.  Holy crap!
  Is that ever a good thing!   I was very humble and apologetic in my little "explanation",  but maybe people do this sort of thing from time to time?    At least I can only hope I'm not the only one.

I still spent some time this morning looking for some evidence of actually having booked that hotel in terms of some sort of confirmation, and there's nothing.
If anything,  I hold on to way too many old snippets of information,  since I have a near morbid fear of actually cleaning out files and folders.    Admittedly it's better than having a huge four drawer filing cabinet filled with decades old papers,  some of which are manuals and warranties for appliances that wore out and were replaced years ago.
Um,  not that that would be something we might actually have back in our home in Canada or anything.  I'm just giving an example here.  It was just something that popped into my head.
Never mind.


So back to the question. 
How did I even get here?


.