So this is what it's like . . .

. . . to not have a life.

I've always heard about people who work 60-80 hours a week, all the time. Generally, these people fall into one of two categories. Either they're completely consumed by ambition and the pursuit of money (e.g., corporate attorneys, stockbrokers, certain corporate ladder-climbers, etc.), or they're just obsessed with what they do (e.g., entrepreneurs, scientists, artists, etc.). I fall into neither of these categories. Although I've sometimes wished I could force myself to become an obsessed artist, I'm just not. I'm more of a balance seeker--you know, work hard, play hard, rest frequently. That's been my life . . . for as long as I can remember. But not lately. As most of you know, lately it's just been work hard.

The scary part? You can get used to it.

Over the past few weeks, I've actually grown used to not really making plans, to not having weekends free. I've gotten used to bringing work home at night and looking at page proofs until 11:00. The nagging voice in my head telling me I really should find time to call my friends and family, to go visit my nephew and niece, to balance my checkbook, go to the store, get a haircut, do laundry, actually cook a meal rather than order one, blog, etc., has finally shut up. It realizes I have to focus on other things right now.

It's O.K., though, because it will end in a couple of weeks. This is not my life all the time, and I'm not going to waste time bitching about it incessantly. I can handle almost anything for a short while. My question is: How the hell do some people do this all the time???

I just don't get it. I don't see the appeal. I don't see how the pursuit of money or power or an obsessed-upon goal can outweigh the simple pleasures of maintaining good hygiene, having a clean house and clothes, eating decent meals, and getting a good night's sleep. Not to mention actually having a social life--you know, occasionally talking to people outside of work, going out now and then, etc.

Of course, I realize that many of these people have other people doing some of this stuff for them. They might have a maid or laundry service, or a spouse or partner to cook for them and clean up after them. But still, there's more to life than working. Or at least, there should be.

I really can't wait to get my life back.

Some examples of how out-of-whack things are right now:

*I really need a haircut. The situation is getting desperate. I'm starting to resemble Cousin It from The Addams Family. The amount of product I have to use on my hair on a daily basis just to keep it under a semblance of control could choke a horse.

*The other day, I bought underwear in lieu of doing laundry.

*Current contents of my fridge: 3 cans of ginger ale, 4 beers, some Half-n-Half, 2 eggs, 3 pickles, and some condiments. That's it. I'm not kidding.

*Last night for dinner, I had couscous from a box. (Cooks in 5 Minutes!) The night before, I had some cheese.

*As I type this, a tumbleweed of cat hair floats lazily around the floor of the office. I haven't cleaned in here in about two months.

Oh well. The end is near, and in two days, I leave for Vegas, baby. Then, six more days of hell, and things should get back to normal. Hopefully. We'll see.

(To Rick, Paul, and Dad--so sorry I haven't been in touch this week. I will soon--promise.)

Figure It Out

A quick blog from the cubicle.

As most of you know, I'm extremely busy at work right now. I'm pushing up against a huge deadline, and I'm doing everything I can to make sure I don't have to cancel my Vegas trip coming up in a couple of weeks. I don't have a lot of time at work for anything besides work.

That's why something that just happened here, which would be annoying at any time, was particularly annoying today.

Let me set the scene first. The cubicle across from mine, usually occupied by Dr. Actually, is empty this afternoon. All the lights in the cube are off. The computer is off. The chair is pushed neatly under the desk. And, as a finishing touch, there is a note clearly displayed on the cube wall: "Working at home for the rest of the afternoon, 9/19."

Which is why it boggles the mind that some idiot from the second floor just knocked on the wall of my cube, completely interrupting me, to ask, "Excuse me, do you know if [Dr. Actually] is in today?"

Seriously, some days it's like God knows I don't believe in him, and so he creates exceptionally stupid people--off the chart stupid--and then sends them to torture me.

This Day in God

I went to a wedding this past weekend, the first one I've been to since the divorce. I suspected I might feel a bit . . . what's the word? skeptical? cynical? physically ill?. . . about the whole thing, considering my personal experiences over the past couple of years, but during the actual ceremony, I didn't really have any personal feelings at all. It probably helped that I was someone's date and didn't really know either the bride or groom very well, and so I absorbed the whole thing from a purely observatory standpoint. And one thing I noticed (like you could miss it) was how God-heavy the whole shebang was.

I've been to a lot of weddings like this over the years, and they all have several things in common. First, in almost every one that I've attended, neither the bride nor the groom is particularly religious, but the parents of one or both of them are. And since said parents are paying for everything . . . presto! Suddenly, God plays a major role in this relationship, one He never really seemed to play before the bill came due. All of a sudden, the way these two people met was by God bringing them together. The way they got to the altar was through God's love guiding and sustaining them. And the way they're going to continue to stay together forever is by God's hand steering through all the trials and tribulations of marriage. Which is, by the way, a gift from God, as is everything in life (including, one must presume, war, cancer, and Nickelback videos).

The other thing I notice about these ceremonies is the Bible verses. These God-heavy weddings always include Bible verse readings, which somehow wind up being the exact same verses every friggin' time. There's about three or four of them, total, and they're always read by a friend of the bride or groom who wasn't quite good enough of a friend to actually be in the wedding party, but whom someone felt should play a role at some point. And so, they get to read one of three or so verses. At this particular wedding, it was the whole "Love is not jealous, love is not vengeful, love is not spiteful, blah blah blah." You know the one. In fact, if you've been to a wedding with any religious connotations at all, you've no doubt heard it. It's about the most popular one--I bet I've heard it at about 60% of the weddings I've attended. What a unique, special ceremony that makes for. Seriously, what's up with that? Why in the world would you want your wedding to be exactly like everyone else's? I just don't get it.

Now, I'm no student of the Bible, although I did do my fair share of verse memorizing at a Baptist youth group I was forced to attend back in the day. Ever heard of Awanas? ("Awanas" stands for "Approved Workmen Are Not Afraid, whatever that means. Today, they may have changed the second word to "Workers," but back when I was being brainwashed, it was definitely "Workmen.") It's sort of the Baptist equivalent of Hitler Youth. We wore uniforms, competed in athletic competitions, and memorized a shitload of Bible verses, and we were awarded ribbons and medals to wear on our uniforms when we recited the verses correctly. The verses were never put into any larger context, and we were not allowed to ask any questions about the verses--it was basically get your assignment, memorize it, and spit it back to the drill sergeants. . . I mean, religious instructors, while standing at attention in front of the rest of the cadets . . . I mean, students. Yeah, it was great. In fact, I have Awanas to thank for completely turning me off to everything remotely religious for the rest of my life. Thanks, Awanas! (By the way, I totally kicked ass at verse memorization. I had a lot more brain cells then. I was basically a 5-star general by the time I got too old to attend, at around age 14. I'm pretty sure I was supposed to start cranking out Aryan babies at that point, but things didn't turn out that way.)

Anyway, back to the Bible. It's been several years since I cracked one open, but every time I attend a wedding and hear the same old verses, over and over, I can't help but wonder if there's not something else in that book that people might choose to quote. I mean, the thing is like 5,000 pages long! There's really only three or four verses in the entire tome that are appropriate to quote at God-heavy weddings??

I've come up with two possible answers, both of which carry validity in my opinion:

1. People are lazy. Eons ago, someone trolled this cumbersome book and came up with some verses that sound wedding-friendly. Everyone else just picks up these verses because they're too uninspired to sift through 5,000 pages, looking for their own verses to have their sort-of friend read.

2. There's just not that much to choose from on love and marriage in the Bible, because it's mostly about war and carnage and plundering and God's wrath and plagues and burning villages and how we're all completely full of horrible sin from the moment we're born. (What a wonderful book upon which to base a religion. So completely unlike the Quran, right?)

So, which possibility do you think is correct? Feel free to weigh in, because I'm really curious.

(Postnote: Despite the rant, I had a really good time at the reception, which was your usual free-cheap-beer-and-wine-and-dancing-to-horrible-pop-hits type of deal. My date was very sweet, and at times, it's nice to have a license to just get drunk and dance your ass off to bad music. Isn't that what weddings are really all about?)

Enough Already

I'd like to take this opportunity to welcome myself back from my extended blogging sabbatical. Oh, you didn't know I was on sabbatical? Actually, neither did I . . . my long absence just sort of happened. As so often happens, actual life got in the way of narcissistic endeavors. And we've all agreed that blogging is narcissistic, right?

So anyway, it's been a busy summer, but I'm feeling the need to write again. So let's just dive right in, shall we? It will be just like when I take some time off work (like that ever happens)--the very day I get back, I inevitably get people coming up and asking me questions about stuff that happened while I was gone. And somehow, I answer. It's like I was never away. Let's make this like that. The diligent among you will notice that I posted (just a while ago) an entry I was working on a few weeks ago. I'd like to expound on the Hot Guy from Indianapolis in a new feature I will call "What Not To Do."

WHAT NOT TO DO

The Scenario: Let's say you're a guy, and you're out at a bar on a sunny Saturday afternoon. You wind up meeting an intriguing woman who is sitting by herself waiting for a friend. Before said friend shows up, you and she have some time to get to know each other. You really like her. You find her very attractive. You have good conversation. Unfortunately, she lives three hours away, and she's meeting someone else tonight. But, you're still interested--enough to exchange information and make plans to maybe meet up at some point in the future.

Later: You text-message this woman several times. Sometimes she responds, sometimes she doesn't. She has since gone back to her own town and is expecting you to call. Instead, you keep texting her, a lot. This goes on for a few days. In your texting, you say you want to visit the woman, and the two of you begin making tentative plans for you to come to her city on an upcoming weekend. (By the way, we are already in What Not To Do territory with all the texting and no calling, but it's a relatively minor infraction.)

Later still: You text her asking her to call you. The next day, in the late evening, she does. You tell her you have the president of your company in your office (you're a mortgage broker, by the way), and can you call her back in about 20 minutes? She's pretty laid back. Sure, she says.

An hour later: You call her back. She is taking apart a futon frame, but she's willing to talk to you while she does so. You start, very tentatively, to make plans for you to travel to her town that weekend. About two minutes into the conversation, you get a call from a client. You take the call, and for the next 10 minutes, this woman you are supposedly interested in gets to hear all about your client's financial situation, along with your advice for the client. The client obviously doesn't know that this strange woman is silently listening to the whole conversation. (Can you sense what territory we're entering into here?)

12 minutes later: You hang up with the client and apologize to the woman. She still sounds relatively unfazed and attempts to have an actual conversation with you. About a minute later, you hear the woman saying, "Are you there?" And you say, "Sorry, I was reading e-mail."

The denoument: The woman finds a reason to get off the phone with you as quickly as possible. Your visit never happens. You e-mail and text her a few times more, but she never responds.

O.K., what have we learned here? A valuable lesson, I hope, in What Not To Do. Look for this as a recurring theme--as recurring as my blog entries will be from here on out. I promise. Or at least, I promise to try.