The Saga Continues

Alright, alright. I'm trying to cool down from a huge outburst of fury and shouting. I just checked my e-mails and shouted 'Fuck!' so loudly that I'm certain all of Cromwell heard me. Great clouds of birds flew out of trees, and rabbits scattered in all directions. I rarely get e-mails but I got two very important ones at once. One I certainly could have done with two weeks ago.
First, please try and understand my anxiety and meritorious patience in regard to waiting for the coveted British stamps to come in the post. Imagine that all your mind-bubblingly troublesome, nightmare-inducing problems would be solved once a package appeared in the mailbox. I ordered and paid for these stamps, thinking that I had finally, finally found the solution to my international post issue. All that was left to do was wait. Until today, when I received the following...

Dear Customer

Thank you for your recent order which we have unfortunately been unable
to process.

Royal Mail Direct is a service offered to customers based in the United Kingdom
and Northern Ireland (with the exception of British Forces based overseas).
For this reason we are only able to deliver orders for stamps to Business addresses
located in the United Kingdom.

I have therefore refunded your card.

Kind Regards, etc etc.

I responded as civilly as I could given my fury, pointing out that it was nice of them to tell me this, but would have been even nicer to let me know before I had spent two weeks waiting on tenterhooks. Could they please make it clear that they do not ship overseas. I made it clear, in the nicest way possible, that they had caused me a great deal of discontent.

The second e-mail was a very polite rejection from the first literary agent I submitted to. This is fine by me, I am expecting much rejection, doubtless this will be the first of many to come. The Writers' and Artists' Yearbook even has a big section on dealing with rejection. I'm pleased they responded so promptly, that's something else I can stop waiting for. Perhaps I would have been a trifle more disappointed had I not had this other message to compare it to, which sent my blood raging. Bastards, bastards, bloody fucking bastards. May corkscrews find their eyeballs.

Anyway, so as the title suggests, the saga continues. I am still in utter disbelief at how immensely difficult this has been. Like, woah. Seriously, woah.

The next step and only option remaining to me is to drive to Queenstown or possibly Alexandra if they have them, and buy some IRCs. Then and maybe then can I finally send off my other submissions. This means taking a day off work, which I really cannot afford to do. It also means driving my 'not quite up to scratch and likely to conk out' van a long way. Let's see what figurative brick wall fate throws in my way this time, I'm almost looking forward to finding out. This whole journey, if we can call it that, has been rather remarkable, don't we feel? I am going to do my level best to go the rest of today without ranting at unsuspecting people. I suppose having something to be angry at is better than being totally bored, and boredom is so ubiquitous these days, especially around here. I am going to have some chocolate milk now, for it will be balm for my soul.