Friday Catch-Up...

...in which our heroine, Bet, realizes she's going flat-ass nuts.

You know how "The Jetsons" ends every week? With George Jetson taking Astro for a walk on the automated dog walker, and Astro, normally quite the dumb little fella, turns the speed on high, jumps off, and leaves poor George getting flattened to within an inch of his life on the dog walker, crying out, "Help! Jane! Stop this crazy thing!" Well, it used to end that way, it's not on anymore, probably owing to the fact that Jane decided to let her husband die out there on the dog walker.

I came to the stunning conclusion that when George died, he was reincarnated into me. And he never had the decency to get off that damn dog walker before he did it. And I don't even know anyone named Jane, so the chances of meeting my untimely demise on the dog walker are pretty good.

To be honest, I wouldn't even mind if, once the death has taken place, my lifeless body shifts on that dog walker to a point where I block its turning, and it stops for a while.

You see, every once in a while I'll realize that my life is moving a little faster than I'd like it to. This generally happens every fall, when I'm actually stupid enough to think that I can participate in Sauerkraut Band and Oktoberfest and also be able to live my normal life. This never works, I know there will be a point about 2/3 through it all where I sit down and boo-hoo for an entire night, wondering how I could have possibly gotten myself into all the commitments I've made, and yet - I do it every year.

And it's a little more frustrating when this happens and I didn't even sign up for anything. I've made no commitments, and yet here I am with more on my plate than I can handle. Or maybe age has made me weak, and things I could handle at one time are now wearing me thin. Very thin. So thin as to only have one side.

I'm not enjoying Community Band this season. I want to quit. Now, I've quit before, not stormed out in a huff, yelling, "You'll never see the likes of me again!" while people wail and gnash their teeth, just dropped away for a few months while I rest and don't drive hundreds of miles to play. Then I go back when I feel like I'll enjoy it more. I never quit around the time of the Spring Concert, though, it's always quite a special occasion, it's where we learn (considering on how you look at the world "learn") the really difficult pieces, it's challenging and fun.

But not this year. I have never been so unhappy and frustrated as I've been at the band practices leading up to this year's Spring Concert. The music's horrible, the band's horrible, I'm often horrible, I wish every saxophone player had his or her instrument stuck firmly up his or her fundament, and I wish the percussion section would just explode into a ball of flames. And Ed, our fearless leader Ed, whom I love dearly, don't get me wrong, is really getting up my snout this season. His methods of rehearsal stupefy me, and I'm left scratching my head at the end of every practice. And I'm so hinky about it all the scratching of my head is starting to draw blood.

Now, I don't like having a bloody head, and driving 65 miles one way once a week to have a bloody head, and so I thought, "That's it, I'll quit for a while." But I can't, for two reasons. One is that I left it way too late to make this decision, there are only 3 or so rehearsals till the concert, and well, I'm me. I'm the dependable one. I won't leave my section in the lurch, even not playing the music as well as I should, and so I can't just duck out. The other is that my wonderful friend, acroer, oboer, and mother of Ervin the Cute, Kellie (with an ie), will be playing her last spring concert with our band this time round. She's moving this summer, a fact I still flatly refuse to wrap my head around, and I'm going to go to as many band practices I can just so I can hang out with her.

And so I go to band. And leave very unhappy, and can't summon up the will to practice this horrible music, which I shouldn't care about because about 95% of the band refuses to practice anyway, but somehow I still care about it all and it's weighing very heavily upon my worried (and bloodied) head.

And gas prices are skyrocketing, which makes the drive not so fun, even if I now have an ipod to listen to on the way there and back.

Work's been a crapload of, well, crap lately. With the boss on vacation last week, I've worked all this week at what was left over from last week, plus what's hit my desk this week. That's a lot of work. A crapload, to be exact. Also, I don't know whether or not to chalk this up to a full moon because I don't know if we're in a full moon phase right now, but all the weirdo clients seem to be attracted to me this week like Pepe Le Pew is attracted to a black cat who couldn't read the "wet paint" sign.

I'm going to give you a helpful life lesson here. It's called, "Why You Should Never Get Married." And the answer is quite simple, it's, "Because sooner or later, you're going to get divorced." If I have to be stuck in the middle of one more poor soul's divorce proceedings, I'm going to puke. Or die. I'm going to puke till I die. Endless phone calls and visits from one soon to be ex-spouse or other saying, "Well you tell her I said...," "Well, you tell him I said..." (which of course I never do, but it doesn't stop them). "She ran around on me for years!" "He told lies about me to my church!" "She threw my clothes out in the yard and the dogs carried them away!" "He stole my kids in the middle of the night!" "She tried to burn down my house!" "Well, only because his girlfriend was there and I'm paying his rent!"

Do you think I give a shit about any of this?!?!

Well, yes, actually, you do. Because you see, part 2 of this life lesson is that when you start getting divorced, apparently you become the center of the universe and think everyone truly does give a shit about the tiniest minutiae of your affairs. You also think really dumb things like, say, your local TheCompanyIWorkFor peon has only you for a client, and therefore is more than happy to spend an entire day listening to and trying to fix your problems while the rest of the free fucking world (and the locked fucking up world) can be put on hold.

And please, I know you're all nice people, so understand when I say this. Do not tell me to just say, "Don't get me involved in this." Because I do! I do that very thing, every other sentence out of my sad mouth is, "This is all between you. I can only do this, and everything else you have to work out between yourselves." But when you're the center of the universe, apparently you don't have to listen. I can only say what is part 3 of the life lesson, "When you get your divorce, don't involve anyone. In fact, don't even involve yourself. Just move away, leave a pile of money on your ex's doorstep with a note saying, 'This should last you six months, bye,' and never be heard from again. Start your own Divorce Witness Protection Program, and begin a brand-new life in Kansas." There.

And so I'm going flat-ass nuts, which was what all this was supposed to be about anyway, and flapping around on the Jetsons dog walker while it's still on high speed and I'm yelling around trying to meet someone named Jane so she can stop it for me.

I come home for lunch every day, for my little alloted hour, only it's not an hour because, well, I don't know because. It's just not. The clocks might tell me it's an hour, but they're lying and there's not a thing I can do about it. I walk in the Pod, mix up a protein drink, check my email, play a couple of games of Word Hunter, and it's time to go back. Before I've finished the drink or found anything to eat to take back to work and not eat because I don't have time. I scramble around for a piece of cheese or chicken or something, then head back to work in a car going 25 mph while my insides are going 75mph.

I'm nervous, I don't sleep, even sans coffee, don't get started on me about that, now, I'll nix the coffee for a day thinking this will finally be the night I get some sleep, but it never happens. I'm forgetting things, and this is driving me round the bend, because I'm not a forgetter. Today it finally hit me that I have an ebay auction I was supposed to send money for on Tuesday, and I'd completely forgotten. So I wrote down the address (it was a non paypal), and left a little earlier than my usual lunch hour (which is not an hour but we won't even go there) to zip by the post office. Which I did, did an incredibly lovely job parallel parking in front of the building, turned off the car, and realized I'd forgotten the paper with the address on it. I said, "Shit," as I do, then thought, "Well, I'll at least get the money order now and worry about the address tonight." Then I realized I had no earthly idea what amount the money order was to be for. I finally just left work for about a half-hour later in the day so I could get it all done. Followed by a trail of people telling me about their divorces. (By the way, in what will come as no surprise, I'm sure, I also forgot the ebay invoice number, and misaddressed the only envelope I had. Can anyone spell "bad feedback?")

And you know, it's the oddest thing. Apparently going nuts helps you get in touch with your Psychic Self, because this morning as I was brushing my teeth I was thinking, "You know, only 1 month and 6 days before I'm out of the jury duty pool." And this morning what should arrive upon my desk but a letter from my old and crumpled arch-enemy Uncle Sam telling me that on March 13th, I'm to make that two-hour trip to be a part of the whole wad of excitement known as The Jury Picking Pool. I think this time around when they ask prospective jurors if there's any reason they should be excused, I'm going to pop up and say I've slept with everyone in the court, including the brass lady who holds the scales.

Anyway, I did survive this week, and it's the weekend, and so maybe I can relax a little. By going to B'burg, playing clarinet duets badly, coming home on Sunday and trying to think up - and create - the recipe du jour, taking pictures, and making a 6:30 dinner date with my sister's family.

If anyone out there knows a Jane, please send her my way.

Betland's Olympic Update:
* I also have two movies I've now kept for over 2 weeks without watching. Netflix is going to kick me out.