Sometimes I just want to cry.

For awhile now, I've been doing so well - in reference to my depression and anxiety - that it has seemed surreal. AT my last appointment with my counselor, we talked about how things are going so well that sometimes I have to step back and wonder when it's going to get bad again....but I told her that I feel like I'm doing much better than I was because I don't, actually, feel that way. I don't wake up every morning wondering if this is the day that things go bad again, and I don't have to work to make myself have a decent day anymore. I'm doing very well, I'd say.

Today, though, I just want to cry. I have an abundance of frustrated tears welling up in me, and I'm afraid that with the least amount of provication, the full deluge may overtake me. These tears are different, though. These tears are the result of a day that keeps slapping me with things that seem directly aimed and intended to make my suppressed tears fall. My shock absorbers, as I have called them, don't seem to be working very well today. It isn't taking much to shake me and rattle me and knock me completely off-kilter.

The day started out well. It really did. It all started around lunchtime.

I have a particularly chauvinistic and, well, crass coworker. He's the type who spits his tobacco stuff in a Sprite bottle and has a Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue desktop calendar. He really does. Usually, in spite of these things, he is a funny guy and - though we admittedly have nothing in common - we are able to talk and laugh and get along famously, in the manner that coworkers need to. He always has funny stories and interesting perspectives on things, and while I often see our conversations as a chance to let my little light shine, I do find myself laughing and enjoying the break from mileage charts and invoices. Anyhow, his first story of the day was not a good one. He began by telling me a joke he had played on two of our pump operators based on their sexual preferences. The story ended - finally - and I told him that was wrong, did not laugh, and continued with my work. This did not rattle me. What did rattle me was when, several hours later, he mentioned in conversation with me and another girl in the office that another girl we work with (stories are hard to tell sometimes when you don't want to use names) needs to have a glass desk. Do you get it? It took me a second, and I was shocked when I realized what he meant. I stared at him, told him again that that wasn't right, and walked away....perturbed and apalled. Fortunately, it was time for lunch, so after resolving that I would never wear a skirt here, I left for my lunch break.

We're hosting our first "dinner party" tomorrow night, for about 4 couples from church, and I only yesterday decided on the menu. I decided that during lunch today I would go to the store to get wht I needed. I shop at Kroger, a southern (I think) phenomenon that gives big-time savings when you have the handy-dandy Kroger card. I shop very intentionally...looking all the time for the yellow tags that indicate extra savings when I swipe my little card. Today, I was particularly excited because I had found several things I needed that were substantially discounted for cardholders, so I knew the bill would be a lot less than it otherwise would have been. Long story short, I get to thte register, try to give the girl (named Cappuccino....can you believe that?) my card, and she wouldn't take it. She said it would go through when I scanned it in the debit.credit card thingy, because it's also a credit card. I swipe....the receipt prints, and there are no discounts. NONE. I said, "Um.....it didn't give me my discounts because of the card," and she said, "Well, there's nothing I can do about it now. See? It's done," and kind of shrugged her shoulders. It's no big deal to her, clearly, but it's a big deal to me. She was so casual and uncaring about it that I became LIVID. I was seething. I don't get mad about thigns usually, but knowing that she could have just wasted at least $10 of our money and didn't want to do ANYTHING to try to fix it just pushed me over the top. I was angry at her and angry at myself for being angry. I prayed on my way back to work, remembering from my recent Bible study lesson that bad thoughts are a choice. I did NOT want this girl named Cappuccino to ruin my day. I was determined to shake it off.

When I got back to my desk, the phone rang....for Boss Man. Hurray. This time, I knew he was here and was proud to be able to say that for sure. I even knew that this was not a telemarketer or other unappealing person, and that he would definitely want to talk to him. I paged back to Boss Man's office....and was greeted with this terse response: "Take a message, will you? I'm on the phone." My thought immediately became, "HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW WHEN YOU'RE ON THE PHONE IF YOU INSIST ON USING YOUR CELL PHONE????????" I took a message, snuck back into Boss Man's office to deliver it, and returned to my desk. *deep breaths* Back to work.

The door chimes ring. Someone is coming into the office and, as receptionist, it's my duty to greet them. I welcomed him with a smile, as I always do, and asked what I could do to help him. He was on crutches, wearing ripped up clothes, and smelled of alcohol, so it wasn't long before I realized this was going to be complicated. He proceeded to tell me his life story which, under other circumstances, I might have been eager to hear, but - with my state of mind being what it has become today - I'm afraid I was not the most comforting person in his time of strife. That made me feel bad, because I realized how bad my attitude was, so when he said he needed to talk to one of the project managers, I was happy to comply. I called the manager and started telling him what was going on while the man continued to tell me his story....getting louder and louder because I was, so rudely, trying to talk over him. As I talked to the manager on the phone, he appeared behind me. HOW DO THESE PEOPLE DO THAT? I thought we were a concrete company, not a school for magicians! He handled Mr. Intoxicated and then told me what I should have done in that situation. Wonderful. Now I have to anticipate every Mr. Intoxicated and Ms. Drama Queen that waltzes through our door, AND I have to hear the expletive-laced descriptions of them when they leave.

I'm sorry, y'all. I might cry a little on my way home, and I won't consider that a relapse.