I feel like I should be apologizing to Dana. I failed. I’ll be okay tomorrow, most likely, but I failed. Tonight I’m crazy. It doesn’t happen very often, and I tried to head it off at the pass, but currently my tense shoulders and near-vibrating hands are tied for evidence with my eyes, which are stinging as much from tears as the corners of my mouth are from salty tortilla chips.
I left work, and after a brief detour to buy $1200 worth of carpet, I headed to the gym. Stretching, cardio, weights: the whole shebang. I felt good. My brain shut off. I sweated. I burned emotional instability. Problem is, most evenings it works. It lasts. It didn’t. By the time I got home and showered my brain was back in overdrive, my neck and shoulders were locked up, and inside my head the disjointed ranting was richocheting off the sides of my skull. Hell, I kept twitching my head to look at people in my peripheral vision because, as I drove by, I swore they were all in Hallowe’en costumes. Yes, dear friends who think my shit is firmly together, I’m this, too.
I got to my brother’s, and he was telling me about Hallowe’en (he does it up big time), and he’s grinning and laughing and I am looking at him and started feeling ashamed of myself. Like this would even register on the radar of what he goes through every day. What he’s been through in the past year or three. So by the time I got home there were tears. I even thought briefly about stopping at Andrew’s to ask for a hug. God, I need one. Funny thing is, that would be okay. I can’t even put into words how important it is to me that that would be okay. As it was, I got a virtual one from him once I got home, which was nice. Not the same, but nice.
Tomorrow almost my entire team is gone for a conference. I suspect that will be a good thing. Though the one of them who is going to be there holding the fort is the one I can’t stand. And I think he likes me. Goody. Oh well, worst case scenario: mental health day. God knows I won’t be faking.
I am not going to have good dreams tonight. However, I can deal with that if it means I can sleep. I can be as confused and alone and insecure and little and obsessive and unhappy and afraid as my dreams need me to be. Long as I have enough energy to pretend to be a grownup come 6:30am tomorrow.