Since I'm feeling better this morning that must mean that I have to go back to the chiropractor so he can make me hurt again. The days immediately following a visit to him are horrible. I hurt so bad I can hardly walk. I'm sure watching me walk from behind people think I must have a cob shoved up my butt or something. I don't know how many more times I have to go to this guy. I'm hoping not much more.

Last night I took Shael to the high school band concert so she could earn extra credit for her band class. I got off work at 5:00 and the concert started at 7:00. That's enough time to make the BLT's that I had planned. One snafu occurred. On my way home, I kept nodding off. It's those pain pills I'm taking. So, when I got home, instead of cooking for my family, I took a nap. On a heating pad. It felt pretty good, too. Until Mike and Shael got home. First thing Mike does is come in there and shut and lock our bedroom door. That, to Shael, is an open invitation to bang on the door. He tells her to go away because Mamma was taking a nap. Well, because he'd gone out the night before with a buddy (I won't go in to detail here because I'm still miffed at him about that) and didn't get home until late, he decided he needed a little nap, too. Nothing ruins a good easy going nap faster than a hulking, snoring husband twitching next to you. I finally gave up on getting any more z's before time to leave and go up to get ready for the concert. Mike gave me $20 and told me to pick up pizza from Weldon's on my way home.
Right before we left I get a phone call with some very distressing news. I'm asked to pray. There's prayer at the church at 7:00 but I knew I wouldn't be able to make it. When we got to the school, I told Shael to go on it, but I took a walk around the dike and prayed. I stopped half way around and stood looking out over the water and prayed and prayed.

When I finally went in, I found that I should have stayed out just 20 more minutes. That way I could have missed out on the choir. I got in on the last minute or two or the jazz band. They were pretty good. The jazz band, still like it use to be, is like the best of the best of the regular concert band. The true musicians, not the ones who are in band just because they didn't want to take art or some other off beat reason. The ones who feel the music, can become one with it, can make it sound wonderful and not just notes coming out of an instrument. The jazz band isn't very big, but they sound big. Very impressive. Next up, the choir. Oh. My. Goodness. They were truly awful. They sang three songs and each song lasted about 5 minutes. There were six members missing, I don't know if they would have improved them or not. They were terrible. I was very glad that the mics weren't picking them up very well. I could hear one girl and one boy that could actually carry a tune, the rest sounded like my Mom. Tone deaf. Couldn't carry a tune in a bucket. Just....scratch your fingernails down a chalkboard horrendous! I was so embarrassed for them. It takes a lot of nerve to get in front of a crowd of people and sing when you sound so bad. I admired them for that, they kept plugging along. I'm going to have to get out an old video to see if my choir in high school was that terrible. Did we sound that bad and I didn't know it? We had about 25 people singing, they had 7. Makes a difference. Maybe I should ask my brother in law for an honest opinion. He was there. For EVERY SINGLE CONCERT. lol.

After the shabby performance by the choir was the high school concert band. They did okay. Especially for such a small band. There were only 4 clarinet players, 2 flutes, 4 trumpets, 1 tenor sax and 1 alto sax. I think there were 2 of 3 french horns. Then there was 1 bass clarinet and 1 tuba. But 5 trombones. I think there were 6 percusionists, also. They had to switch out playing different things and there was always 2 people sitting out on each song. And that was it.
Pretty small band, but they did alright for such a size. I don't care much for the band director. She's pretty showy and bows to the crowd between each song. Theatrics are very high on her list of priorities and I think she'd be a great drama teacher if Wyandotte would offer such a class. The highlight of the evening was the displaying of one of our very own prodigies. Fiddlin Jake (AKA Jake Simpson) got to be spotlighted and that was very cool. The director's mother is a composer and the band booster raised enough money to commission a song that included fiddle in a concert band piece. It was called "Jake's Breakdown" and it was very good, actually.

Jake has been playing the fiddle since he was a little bitty guy, and quite well, I might add. I don't remember hearing him screech that thing, ever. He's now reached the age of the high school band and he plays drums. But, they made a piece of music just for him so he could display his true talent. The fiddle. He's so good. I really think that boy's family could move him to Branson and he could support the whole family by just doing what he's good at. I hope that he does something with that talent instead of leaving it behind to pursue other interests like the rest of his musical family. The Simpsons are a very talented bunch. Music in their veins.

After the concert I went to get that pizza and they quit making pizza at 8:15 and I walked in at 8:20. Crap. I tore out of there hopping mad and drove to Seneca trying to decide what to do. Should I order a pizza there and wait 25 minutes for it, even though it's so late already? Should I go to the grocery store and buy something already made or something that could be put together real quickly? I tried calling Mike but got a busy signal. So, I opted for the grocery store option and got some sandwich things. I got home with it and when I told Mike he went and blew up on me. I was already on the edge of myself after the phone call with bad news and sitting through that concert, then missing the pizza by 5 minutes. When he started in on me about how he didn't want a sandwich (I'll spare you the details of the nasty words he used) I left my half way made sandwich and went outside on the back porch and cried and cried and cried. I cried for everything. I cried about the pizza, I cried about the bad news, I cried about the bitter disappointment this marriage is turning in to. I needed Mike so badly then. To come hold me and tell me everything was going to be okay. Instead, he came to the back door and opened it a crack and said "Just ignore me". When I had apologized for the sandwiches, he would say "It's fine. No big deal" but he'd say it in that way that meant it wasn't fine and it was a big deal. The big jerk. I wanted to punch him right in the face. Just ignore him. Like he was doing to me, I guess. By the time I came in, I had all but forgotten the pizza and the sandwiches, the concert was way out of my thoughts. But the bad news was weighing heavy on my heart and I wanted someone that I could talk to about it. I came in and finished fixing my sandwich, I sat down to eat it and I kept choking up and it felt like the bite of food that was in my mouth would turn to saw dust. Mike looked over at me and hollered "I told you to forget about it, it wasn't a big deal," (once again in that same tone that meant it still was a big deal to him). I felt like hollering back "You stupid jerk! It's not all about you!" but I didn't. That's one can of worms I did not want to open. No, instead I finished my sandwich (that was actually pretty good) then stepped over to him, got down on my knees and laid my head down on his belly and started crying again. He asked me what the matter was and I told him. I was expecting him to gather me up in his arms and hold me. Instead he gave me a couple pats on the back and acted like I was a stranger getting his shirt all wet with tears. Lord, I need my husband back! I know I've changed over the years, but have I changed so much that I'm a stranger to my own husband now? I need him, Lord. HELP!