Do you have any grey Coupon?

At my sister-in-law Jill's place this morning, we chatted about this and that - my foray back into the musical world, her husband's job, my job, her kids, my partner ... it was a very nice morning, catching up. We don't see each other near enough.

We had just finished talking about how broke we both are, when she got an excited glimmer in her eye. "Wanna see the project I'm working on?" She jumped up and grabbed a big black binder (how's that for alliteration?) that was stuffed to the gills with papers.

We sat down and opened it.

Coupons! Lots and lots of coupons!!

As I poured over the remarkably well-organized pages, she told me about her foray into the highly underrated world of bargain shopping. She told me how much she saves on every shopping trip. She showed me her pantry, pointing to things and telling me what kind of a bargain it was.

Her binder was awesome. She filled it with clear pages meant to hold baseball card collections. Each compartment had a coupon in it. Each tab was marked with a different genre: Toiletries, Breakfast, Meat, Produce ...

I had to keep the mental drool off of my chin.

I'm sold. It was all I could do, when I got back to Dallas, to keep from running to my local Walgreen's to pick up their coupon pamphlets. The only thing that stopped me was the fact that I had so much to do before I went back to work that afternoon (alas).

I can't wait to get my own started. Oooh! I already have a binder that I'm filling with recipes. It'd be easy peasy to put a few pages at the back for to hold coupons.

Yay!

Heeding the call

I got a summons in the mail a few weeks ago, asking me politely to please come for Jury Selection, iff'n I don't mind.

Ha.

After dreading my fate for weeks, the day of reckoning was finally upon me. This morning I awoke ridiculously early. You see, I was called to serve for the county in which I grew up - my permanent address is with my mother in my home-town. I now live 20 minutes away, at least. To make matters worse, the location of the courthouse was an additional 20 minutes from there.

I bemoaned my luck to a Starbucks barista over coffee this morning, and she gave me a nugget of wisdom: she too was called to an old county to serve on a panel. When she told them that she no longer lived there, she got off scott-free.

Hmmmm....

Running low on time, I rushed home to grab a bit of mail, a bank statement per'aps, to lend credibility to my case.

When I arrived, I was asked to please dispose of my Starbucks coffee in the proper trash receptacle. I was heartbroken. (I was only half-way through!) I was one of only three other potential Jurors there so far.

I approached the official-est looking person there, summons and bank statement in hand, and told my story. After looking at both (to my amusement, they looked two or three times), I was told that I could go, sorry for any inconvenience.

I could feel the daggers coming from the other victims' eyes. If looks could kill ...

So. What to do?

Going into the Suburbs to the Courthouse from Dallas was a breeze. Hardly any traffic, no accidents ... just a nice drive all around (even if it was a little long). That time of morning however, I rather dreaded going back ...

As I sat at an especially long traffic light, a thought struck me.

"Self," I said, "your sister-in-law lives but a few miles further up the highway. Why not give her a call, wait out the traffic, chat for a little while?"

So I did.

:D

Shittity Brickitty

About a week and a half ago, because they were buggin', I (finally) decided to ditch the pair of contacts I had been wearing for the past 4 months in favour of putting in my next, fresh pair.

I removed the offending lenses and proceeded to toss them into the toilet. I rummaged in the cabinet and grabbed the box of contact lenses ... only to find it empty! I just threw away my last set of contacts!!

And, to add insult to injury, I had no backup glasses either.

I must have been quite a sight, squinting, crouched over the toilet seat, reaching in to retrieve them. Thankfully, they were floating at the surface, and no serious reconnaissance needed to be done.

:\

The water was clean, but all the same, for one full week I wore lenses that had been all too intimately acquainted with something I'd rather they hadn't known.

Anyway, long story short, the final pair tore in my eye last weekend. Saturday, a day in which I needed to go to the office and work, I spent going to the optometrist and picking out a new pair of glasses.

Honestly, it was a welcome break from a ridiculously long work week. I feel quite sure that it was the Universe's way of telling me to slow the fuck down. Never mind the fact that on Monday morning I was in no way prepared for the week ... I was rested. I had spent a weekend relaxing and taking care of myself.

It. was. wonderful.

High Times

... and not the fun kind.

My stress levels are so high that it's redonk-u-lous. It's a rather big cliche, but there truly is no rest for the weary.

School has started, and for me that means a larger-than-normal work load at work. I deal directly with orchestra teachers in the Metroplex - they're stressed, so I'm stressed too.

If they need something, I bring it. To them, I am the face of *insert the company I work for here*. There's a lot of pressure to make them happy ... all 40 of them.

Some of them are pretty groovy people: there's the lady that had her Advanced Orchestra play a medly of Queen songs for the end-of-year concert. Or there's the one that wears pentacle earrings. Or the flamboyantly gay guy that makes me smile any time we talk.

But then there's the teachers that call me at 7:45 in the morning. Or the ones that call me at 8:00 at night. Or the ones that call on Saturdays.

Among most sentient beings, there is an understanding that there is a sanctity to The Weekend that must never be breached. Some of my teachers, however, abuse me terribly. Some believe that I am at their beck and call, that any whim of theirs, no matter how absurd (and some of them are), should receive my utmost-est attention.

I have a teacher who asked me to please check Lowe's or Home Depot for prices on their furniture touch-up markers, so she could retouch some of her school's instruments.

{ }
I should be happy. I should be overjoyed. I got a raise this last pay-period. The shit seems to have finally finished hitting the fan. I. Am. Appreciated. They like me.

But today I considered quitting. I'm on the verge of a breakdown. I work'd over 50 hours last week, and fully expect a repeat performance this week. Labor Day weekend? Ha. I got a day. Sunday. Because I had ketchup work to do in order to have some semblance of order for the start of the week, I worked both Saturday and Monday.

Silliness.

But I was reminded today by a dear friend at work that, not too unlike fibrous substances, this too shall pass. Things will eventually even out. The crunch-time is nigh unto its end, and peace shall once again fall upon the kingdom.

I've been feeling drained. Making room for "me time" this evening has really made a difference. All I've been doing is coming home (LATE) from work at night, eating dinner, and going to bed - where I have nightmares until dawn. Then I get up, get ready, and enter the fray anew each morning.

If I create peaceful time in the evenings, instead of allowing the day to defeat me, I may just be able to squeak by ... or even come out the other side (relatively) unscathed.

We'll see.