AACP plus TCW equals me, annoyed.

I got friggin' rear ended AGAIN earlier tonight. Sheesh! I don't know what it is about this Buick I'm driving, but I've got other people's bumpers on me like flies on poo. I just went through this two or three months ago and my muffler has yet to fully recover. At least in this instance, the other car only managed to smudge the healthy layer of dirt on my rear bumper. Unfortunately that was little consolation for the Terrified Crying Waitress that hit me. I put my arm around her shoulders and tried to steer her away from the oncoming traffic. "Here, sweetie. Let's move out of the road, okay?" Thanks to my vast experience with inconveniences such as these, I found myself in the unusual role of Calm Adult who Knows What to Do. In the car behind Terrified Crying Waitress (henceforth to be known as TCW), was Apologetic Adolescent with Cell Phone. AACP looked like he was fully expecting to get a black eye from me or TCW. So he just apologized over and over and blamed the incident on his mom calling him regarding his whereabouts. I don't know what happened to TCW and AACP. I was on my way to the gym and I wasn't going to let this collision keep me from that new rowing machine that I have fallen in love with.

Right now, my husband is at this Nickel Creek concert that we both wanted to go to. Nickel Creek is pretty much my favorite band; Jonathan and I went to college with the lead singer of the group so the element of nostalgia is definitely there. We were planning on going together if our schedules allowed it, but this week my boss is out of town at our company's annual manager's meeting/boozefest. I ended up being the one making everyone's work schedule for the next couple of weeks and I put down my hours wherever I was needed and assumed the concert was off. Kind of a bummer, but I wasn't counting on it too much anyway. However I was kind of surprised tonight when Jonathan called me at work and said he was thinking about going. He's working long hours these days and the concert location was a fair distance away. But I was kind of glad for him, to be honest. He deserves some leisure time as much as anyone. It just made me sad because I realized that I was off yesterday and I could have easily scheduled my hours to accomodate the concert.

Why all the fuss about one concert? At times like this, I feel like I'm missing out on the things in this world that make life worth living. I work full time with some overtime whenever I can sneak it in. When I'm not pounding away in the shop, I'm flopped out on the couch, exhausted. When I'm not working or vegetating, I'm worrying about: A. how I'm a failure as a wife and homemaker, B. how I'll someday fit a family into my growing obsession with work, or C. how life is quite possibly passing me by. Missing the concert tonight brought item C to the surface. Twenty-six is a wonderful age to be. But have I really done anything with it? Am I squandering it by evolving into a workaholic? Don't get me wrong. I am surrounded by tons of cool and wonderful people who challenge me and make me laugh every day. I wouldn't trade my church family for anyone. I am married to my best friend, my favorite person in the whole wide world. When I have days when I don't like anyone or anything, I still like him. I know all those things count for something. But I suppose I wouldn't be myself if I didn't have several things to overanalyze and worry about.

You know, I think Dr. Phil could fix me and make me sort of normal. I'd be "excited about my life" and be "plugged in" to my marriage and family. Hmmmm. Maybe I don't need him after all since I know all his little Dr. Phil-isms.

Okay, it is now 11:31 and I have 11:15 programmed into my body as my bedtime. I'm sure my hubby is having a blast at the concert, despite my absence. I really am looking forward to hearing about how great it was. I just hope his evening won't get spoiled by one of our all-too-frequent car accidents. If AACP messes with my husband's truck (we've had 3 fenders in 12 months), he can count on that black eye.