It just does. Sometimes it's even my decision to instigate unpleasant situations. And things get uncomfortable, and I feel shaky and unsure and occasionally incredibly guilt-ridden. And I descend into the depths of obsessive coping strategies.* Sometimes you work thirteen hour shifts and it is hard to keep standing up and keep smiling at rude customers and keep going even though you forget the filter in the coffee and your boss gives you a hideous look of disgust and some extremely passive aggressive comments, and then the thing overflows, because I didn't look stupid enough. (By the way, the overflowing was totally not my fault. My image at work is irredeemable, so I have to post the facts on here and hope that the Internets will offer some form of vindication. It could be a long wait, I know, like modem slow. But my job is teaching me patience and self-control. Bring it on.)
The point is, crap sucks. Sometimes. Only for short lived periods. At least the intensity ebbs out. Example time: Today was bad. My brain is "a dangerous neighborhood that you should not go into alone!" Last night was one of those times I stay up late and pay obsessive attention to incredibly insignificant details in order to keep from losing my mind. (and also to do laundry cause I got called in to work and was woefully unprepared in regard to my uniform.) I slept short and got up early and went to work for a hugely long period of time where I made a complete fool of myself in person and through accidental and horrifically timed text messages. But it's okay, cause my sister hugged me and affirmed all my life choices before she went to bed and I went to crazy town. And my dear caring brother drove me to work this morning cause I was freaked out about my tires, and he told me I was being brave. And my boss was only passive aggressive. She could have been straight-up aggressive. And then Monica (the other boss who hired me who is my favorite person I met in North Carolina) came and made me feel comfortable again and drove me home cause we live close and gave me my long-forgotten and belated Christmas gift which I love and told me hilarious and unbelievable stories about her honeymoon. And I got home and the children were awake and they promptly dragged me upstairs to show me the roses my family put in my room. And I laid on the kitchen floor and had story time with my siblings before our almost nightly ritual of British Television before bed. ("Downton, anyone?") And then I talked to my best friend in all the world who lovingly threw my own advice back in my face (as he has a special ability to do) and told me to pray and that everything will be alright.
And suddenly I feel I can wake up tomorrow and buy new tires and go to work all over again and fold all the laundry which is currently all over my bed (which, let's be honest, is the reason I am blogging instead of dead to the world and horizontal.) I can come home and make dinner and through sheer effort, I can be awake. And I can do it and be cheerful even if I don't feel very much kinship with any sort of ray of sunshine. It's fine, cause I have the best smelling roses you ever smelled and a big heart picture that my Libby gave me along with a hug and a fairly large amount of enthusiasm.
That's worth a lot. And life takes turns for the unpleasant, but not the impossible.
* For example. I once got the worst news I've ever gotten in my life. And all I could think to do was to clean my fish bowl, an impulse which worried and bewildered my sister standing by. My mom told her not to worry because methodical cleaning is how I deal with stress. This is true, and routines of perfectionism and organization seem to help. Erin has this theory about how I get extra clean and orderly in phases as if to compensate for the times when I am an emotional mess. I think she's on to something, and I feel to develop this observation into an addition of my collection of Life Theories. Perhaps The Tucking Theory. Hm.