But when the weekend's over, and Monday rolls around

... I end up like I start out
Just cryin' my heart out


(From "I Got It Bad and That Ain't Good - fave standard of the day)


That song has little to do with how I feel today, but the weekend is, indeed, over, and Monday has rolled around. Howdy, Monday. Whatcha got for me?

The weekend was a tad symptomatic. I'll break it on down for ya:



Friday:

I accompanied Meera and Ross to see Jenn's second-year med student show. It was this crazy mock-Alice's Adventures in Wonderland with many a dance number, with a cast of incredibly enthusiastic and talented med students who shamelessly mocked themselves and their faculty. I got... some of the jokes. Mostly I sat there stunned by the thought of the untapped talent in medical field. I imagine off-duty residents perfecting tap numbers and singing madrigals to pass the time. I really was amazed.

The only part of the show that bugged me came toward the end when they lowered a screen and ran a slide show while a girl, the director actually, sang this version of "Somewhere Over the Rainbow." If you haven't heard it, Israel Whatshisface sings this very laid-back vocal over a simple guitar playing a sort of reggae beat. His voice is a little scratchy, earnest and yet relaxed, and surprises you when he plays with the melody, then grafts in "What a Wonderful World" flawlessly. The girl who sang it on Friday night gave a painstakingly correct delivery with a classically trained voice. Her voice was beautiful, yes, but she killed the character of the song and for that she must die.

Er... I mean... that was uncool of her. Dammit.

Enough of my vocal snobbery. Moving on.


Sateeday:

Kate's birthday party started at nine, which gave me plenty o' time to gather my Flaming Cabbage supplies. You'd think. I went to the Tappan St. Stah Mahket. They had cabbages of a moderate size, Lil Smokies and no Sterno. I bought the Lil Smokies, figuring that I'd have to stop somewhere else for the Sterno and I didn't want to carry a cabbage around all frickin' day.

Next stop, the Party Favors store, also on Beacon. I picked up some fancy toothpicks and headed back home to shower, etc.

Out again... to the Russian store, Bazaar, which I don't frequent for fear that they will pick up my quarter-Russian scent and stare at me accusingly when I can't converse fluently in their dialect. But I knew they'd have some mean cabbages. I picked one up for $0.39/lb, it cost me $2.40. That's a lotta cabbage. It was HUGE, I tell you! But alas, the Russians had no idea what I was talking about when I asked for Sterno. Nor did the guy at Liquors Foods who always asks about Stefan (because they're both Salvadoran).

I got on the T with my cabbage, Lil Smokies, marsha-mellohhhhs, and toothpicks, planning to go to the Stah Mahket near Fenway and pick up the elusive Sterno. I stopped at the Tiger Mart first. The guy looked at me funny and said, "Why don't ya go ta Stah?" Right, buddy, off I go. I wandered up and down the aisles of Stah, knowing where Sterno SHOULD be, finding it missing (favorite idiom of the day), and eventually asking at the service desk while fighting back tears.

Some guy with a manager's badge went to check himself. Nope, all out. So sorry.

By that time I was pretty upset. If I couldn't find Sterno then I couldn't have a flaming cabbage, and if I couldn't have a flaming cabbage I'd be letting Kate down, although she might not really care that she couldn't dig into the Lil Smokies and marsha-mellohhhs, being vegetarian, but it's the principle of the thing, and reall the flaming cabbage is all about two things: spectacle, and Shane. And if the cabbage doesn't flame properly, where IS Shane? Have I lost him somehow? Is the elusive Sterno some kind of punishment for something I'm not doing for him? Oh my god, I'm the worst friend EVOR and the cabbage is a ruin and life as we know it has narrowed to this one failing...

Of course, I got to the party, blathered about my search for Sterno, cut a hole for a candle instead (vanilla-scented. ew.) and people still gathered 'round the cabbage in bewildered fascination.


Sunday:

All I had to do... and this is pretty simple, folks... was meet Arnie at his place in Belmont at 2pm and call my friend Tina. Not so much to ask, right?

Tina's boyfriend-whom-we-don't-call-a-boyfriend has mylofibrosis, a rare form of cancer, on top of some other scary cancer that he's been battling a lot longer. Tina's my nextdoor neighbor from Victor and we've known each other since 1982. She and Danny Welch are the only two people I bother to see when I'm home. Yesterday Tina threw a fundraising party to help pay for Eric's medical expenses, and I know she could have used me for moral support. I couldn't pay for the ride home, much less make a donation, but I wanted to call and touch base.

I opened my address book to the proper page, pointed at her number (her cell; I have her home number etched into permanence somewhere in my brain), and I could feel my heart start to pound. I could feel my pulse everywhere - my pinky toes, my eyebrow, and of course my chest. And then, as I held the phone, ready to turn it on and dial, it rang. I dropped it and yelped a bit, feeling a sweat break out on my forehead.

It was too much. I had to email her instead.

So I went to Kinko's en route to Arnie's and wrote her a nice, supportive, sorry-I'm-such-a-jerk email. Nice of me?

And then off to Arnies. The short story is the only story you need if you've ever experienced the MBTA bus system: I had to take two buses. On a Sunday. I started out an hour and 15 minutes early and got there 45 minutes late. I actually WAS in tears when I got there, feeling horrible for Arnie, who had informed me earlier that he wasn't sure he wanted to jam since he had to put his cat to sleep on Saturday, but finally mustered up the chutzpah to give it a go. He looked pretty frantic and helpless when he noticed my flustered face, and quickly appeased my request to be led to the bathroom. I ran some water, looked myself in the eye, breathed deeply. I couldn't get my heart to stop racing or the tears to stop rising. It took five long minutes to settle and go out to greet Arnie properly.

The jam session was a bit sloppy on both sides. We were both exhausted and it showed, but we also got a lot done, and I think Arnie felt better having some company. We added some upbeat tunes and thought over what the Nahth End gig might require of us. (I'm understocked in the Sinatra/Tony Bennett department and might not be able to take requests unless I catch up.) There were several times during our session when I felt my pulse quickening - when I couldn't get the rhythm how I wanted it, when I kept missing the same word or note repeatedly, when I couldn't find a song I wanted in the 400 pg fake book...


What I'm saying is that I noticed a theme this weekend. This is actually a good thing, that I noticed it, so don't go assuming I'm panicking about this, too, but... The OCD is getting worse. Those anxious reactions and out-of-control moments are all symptoms. That need to have things Just How I Want Them, that feeling of all of it crawling around under my skin until I could scream with the discomfort and self-loathing... it's gathering speed, picking up pace, gaining on me.