Where, oh, where is the weekend?

Wait -- this is the weekend? I'm toast. I need a vacation. I need a vacation from planning my vacation.

This week has been absolutely insane. And not in a funny, clever, I can make this humorous kind of way.

- My sister's wreck more than a week ago is turning into hell. She did nothing wrong, which even the police noticed, yet somehow her insurance company -- the people we all pay to keep us covered in the event we're hit by an idiot -- is dragging its feet about doing the right thing. I hate insurance companies. They're evil. All of them. They exist only for profit and for bilking honest people out of their rightful coverage.

- Our Walt Disney World plans changed a great deal on Wednesday. Wesley suddenly discovered there's a Halloween event in the Magic Kingdom on Woodrow's birthday. (Yes, I had told him, but that was months ago and he was overwhelmed with other plans at the time.) An entire day was spent trying to decide whether or not to chuck our previous plans and go to the Mickey's Not So Scary Halloween Party, or to keep our original plans and just try to pretend we were missing out on something. I finally ordered the party tickets. (From a really nice cast member.) I cancelled our original dinner plans. I made new dinner plans. (With a really not-nice cast member.) I tweaked the itinerary to within an inch of its life. I scraped my brain in an effort to come up with a suitable costume idea that didn't cost a fortune *or* would make me excessively hot. Woodrow -- the birthday boy -- is the only person in the whole family who doesn't plan to wear a costume to the shindig. Hmmmm.

- Miss Snark is holding another Crapometer. If you do not read Miss Snark's blog, this makes no sense to you. Suffice it to say an anonymous agent is offering to act like an agent and reject your query, and she's doing it publicly. I waffled for the full 12 hours that she was accepting entries, and at the last possible minute, I sent my crap in. I really figured my query would be lost when the random-number-generator picked only 100 entries from the 459 that made it to Miss Snark. I was wrong. My number was chosen.

Now Miss Snark is, indeed, posting people's queries and first pages, and she is rejecting all of them. (She was up to number 21 the last time I had the courage to look. That's 21 rejections out of 21 queries.) That would be bad enough, but the 359 people whose queries didn't make it through the random drawing are *skewering* every query they see on the basis that their query was randomly skipped for *this*?

I don't know for whom I feel the most sorry -- Miss Snark, because she is having to read all this stuff and comment on it; the randomly skipped queriers, because they don't have a chance to be rejected publicly; the accepted queriers, because they're getting slaughtered out there; or me, because my query is going to be just a ... a trainwreck. I honestly do not know what is wrong with me that I keep putting myself in such positions. I keep hoping it will be a learning experience. I keep hoping I won't fall apart.

I keep thinking I should forget where Miss Snark's blog is until next week.

- Project Runway is so disheartening. I dislike Jeffrey so much, and now he has immunity for another week. But I'm grateful for the podcast listeners who follow the Grits to Glitz Wednesday night specials.

- Email is so uplifting! This week we've heard from Tennesseans, Las Vegas fans, California devotees, and even a Brit! That is the coolest thing!

I need a nap. When is the weekend, again? Oh, shoot, if today's Saturday, that means it's football time in Tennessee.... yep, definitely need a nap......