Old Dogs, New Tricks

As I say every time I start a blog, I neglect poor Betland. I'll bet some of you think I've just given up on blogging and so you don't come here anymore, in which case you're not reading this, but you're probably not missing out on much.

The main reason I seldom blog is because I'm out of ideas. I blame that on a simple fact of late. I kind of hate my life. No, I don't kind of hate it, I really hate it. Now, don't fear for me, I don't hate living, I'm not going to jump off a building or anything. I just hate the version of life I'm living lately.

There's a long outline of why I hate the life I'm living right now, full of main topics and subsets, but I'll touch on the three main reasons.

I. Too Damn Much

Work of late has just been hell, and I'm overwhelmed. It's happened before in phases, but this entire year has been overwhelming. Six months is a fucking long phase, if you'll pardon the curse. I seldom leave work with all the day's tasks done, which of course puts me behind beginning the next day. It seems to never end.

Then along with that I'm traveling to B'burg for clarinet practices (an ensemble recital in July), and the Sauerkraut Band has decided it's time to record a new CD. Which is great, we've needed to some six years, but now seems to be the time we're all gearing up with rehearsals for that. Normally, I'd also have Community Band stuff to add to all that, but for now I'm giving Community Band a pass. If I have the time or inclination to hit a concert or practice, I might do it. Then again, I might not. Self-preservation.

And of course, there's Granny & Paw duty, which I have every other weekend. (On the plus side, my sister is very good about dividing G&PD. Thank you, Sis.) But after a long week at work, and knowing there's a rehearsal of some sort on Sunday, it's a little daunting knowing that Saturday will be spent going around to stores, then helping load groceries, unload groceries, and carry groceries into the house. Then I get home with my own groceries, and have no one to help me unload them and carry them into the house, so I do that myself.

OK. May not sound like much, but I'm tired.

II. Damn Pack Mule

I don't know when it happened, but in the past year or so, I seem to have become a full-fledged bag lady. I don't go anywhere that I'm not lugging a bunch of shit around with me.

I did a blog (one I actually liked) years ago about my pocketbook. How when I was a teenager, and even into my early 20s, I traveled with a drivers license in one pocket and some cash in the other. Boy, how things have changed.

This is the main bag I carry.





















I love it for several reasons. It's orange, it's weatherproof, and it will hold everything. The problem with that is I've started to carry everything. My cute orange bag weighs so much it gives me a backache.

Then, to work everyday, I take a thermal mug of ice. I also need to take a 20 oz bottle water to fill the thermal mug with. I sometimes take a snack. I often take the anti-itch lotion I keep at hand for when my nervous itching (who would ever have thought that?) acts up. I often have to take my "personal case" back and forth to work, the one that holds bills and papers and the like.

I walk into work every morning like a damn pack mule.

Then when I go to B'burg, I have to lug a horn, a folder of music, and an overnight bag with me. If I want to take the netbook, threre's another bag. If I want to take whatever else to have there, books, magazines, movies, paper and pencils, there's another bag. Plus Milo. He doesn't go in a bag.

I travel everywhere like a damn pack mule.

III. What's Next

Isn't it nice to just be able to get up and leave the house? Well, I don't know, because I can't do that. I used to. It used to be my favorite part of being a single woman with her own house. I just grabbed the car keys and walked out. Where the hell did that vanish to?

I was trying to explain this to someone lately, and they looked at me like I was flat-ass batshit crazy. I was saying that every time I go somewhere I suffer something called "No, Wait," and it went like this. Say I'm going to work.

"OK, I've got this and this. No, wait, I have to do this. Oh, crap, to do this, I have to find this. Where is this? No, wait, it's here. Now I need to quickly do this. No, wait, to do this, I have to do this. But I have to do this first. OK, finally, I can leave. Oh, crap, after I do this. No, wait, first I have to do this...."

And on and on. Is it any wonder I'm always late for work?

IV. There Is No IV

Now, I'm going to throw something else into the mix here. It has nothing to do with the outline and all that stuff, it's just one more thing on my plate.

My adorable little puppy Milo is now a little over a year old. And he's turned into a teenager. A teenager with attitude.

This has mainly manifested itself in the area of his crate. Milo doesn't want to go into his crate anymore. It used to not bother him the least, he marched right into it like a little champion. Problem is, he also doesn't want to be given the entire kitchen. Every time I've given him the kitchen, I've come home and he's climbed the gate into another room.

Now, I never wanted Milo to be crated the rest of his life. My dream is to have him wander the house when I'm gone. But there are things in the house a puppy can get into. Not the kitchen, it's puppy-proof. That's why I wanted to start in the kitchen and work our way on from there.

This week, I've started Milo out in the kitchen two more days, and both of them, he's ended up in the living room. Crying, because he can climb the fence into the living room, but he can't climb it to get back.

V. There's No V Either, I'm Just Enjoying Making Roman Numerals

And now to today. Two things happened that lightened my spirit a bit. The first thing was that I had seen a little handbag I liked, smaller than my orange bag, and I thought I'd order it. It arrived. It was way smaller than I had imagined from the online picture.






















Yep. That's smaller, all right.

Instead of getting all depressed and saying, "Well, there's $45 down the drain," I made a decision. I was going to pack the little bag from my big bag. When I ran out of room, that was it. I mean, do I have to carry a bottle of perfume with me? Sample sized hand lotions? How much change does one actually need lying at the bottom of a bag?

I got it done, and I took the big beloved orange bag and put it away. So as not to be tempted. I'm trying it out for a week. We'll see if - even once - I say, "Boy, I miss the [insert item] I used to carry around with me.

I also found a compact canvas bag with a handle. That will carry what I take back and forth to work with me. If it doesn't fit in the bag, it won't go with me.

And finally. I came home from lunch today, and there was - well, actually, there was no Milo. Once again, he wasn't in the kitchen. He'd climbed into the living room. I went in to see if he'd gotten into anything. He hadn't.

And so I made a proclamation, out loud. "All right, big boy, you think you're too old to be confined to a crate and a kitchen? Fine. Have at it." I took down the gate into the living room.

When I left going back to work, I gave Milo a treat, closed the unclimbable gate to the den, and headed out the door. (After doing "No, Wait" a few times.) He was whining as I left.

And when I came home after work, there was Milo hopping around to meet me at the den gate. I opened it, did a walk-through of the house, and not a thing had been disturbed. He'd been a good boy while I was gone.

And not only that, I leashed him up and took him outside, and he immediately peed and pooed. Yes, could have found a spot in the house for both of those, but he waited till he got outside.

So maybe my rebellious teenager just needs a little more responsibility. And he'll continue to get some.

And maybe I need to cut a lot of the crap out of my life. I'll keep working on that, too.

Betland's Olympic Update:
* Consequence of blogging once every three weeks. Too-long blogs.