Let’s face it. We all have terrible days. They’re inevitable. Sometimes when you wake up in the morning, no matter how upbeat your first 10 minutes are getting out of bed, stretching, wiping the sleep from your eyes, brushing your teeth, etc., something has positioned itself for urinating in your Wheaties. Granted, I’ve had worse days than today…. much worse. Nevertheless, it just sucks a little more than normal when multiple things go so incredibly wrong and the couple dozen balls I’m juggling turn into a blur and begin dropping to the ground.
I’m the first to admit that I sometimes don’t deal with these days well. Most times, it’s as benign as opening Facebook and posting a veiled, nondescript epithet like “Some days you’re the pigeon. Other days, you’re the statue.” Other days, I’m weepy and want to crawl into a corner. Rarely, but occasionally, I’ll bite the heads of of anyone that tries to come into contact with me. I’m not sure what side of the family my temper comes from. Both the Fletchers and the Irvins would argue that they are less hot headed and more passive aggressive.
There’s a guy who I work with who’s generally pretty nice to your face. He normally wearing a smile and presents himself to be pretty chill. He’s got a hidden talent though. He has a talent for pumping enough negativity into the world, to say nothing of the office, through a single email to stun a team of oxen in its tracks. He frequently uses inflammatory language with the intent of digging as deep as he can, emotionally, in order to illicit response. I feel led to use some examples, but I probably ought not to in case he reads this blog. Needless to say that as much as a wordsmith as I am, he can string a dozen “buck and a half” words together and make you feel like the lowest possible form of human existence to have ever set foot on soil.
Today though, I made a decision. I gained the courage and the personal fortitude not let it ruin my day. There were plenty of other catalysts out there to ruin my day. Things like finding out that your ex-partner, who still technically owns the car, didn’t think about the tag arrangements before letting go of his last morsel of residency in the state where it’s tagged. Happy times. Or the parent of a Bishop England High School parent who is in such a hurry, she almost pushes you into a ditch on Clements Ferry Road. Every. Damn. Day.
Nope, I didn’t let the fire-fingered jack-ass who loves to lob incendiary emails around like so much monkey shit have any affect on me. I moved his latest masterpiece miasma of masterful mindfuck to a folder and moved on. It kinda shocked me later on that I did it. Time was when I might have let it set the tone for the day. To God I give all the credit. Personally, I’m just happy that at 37 years old, I can still learn new tricks.
Between asshat co-workers, ex-partners who are are generally in their own orbit, computer operators who TLDRed the manual, and dropping my security badge down the opening between the elevator car and door, and Comcast being…. well… Comcast, I guess I kept my cool pretty well today. I’m frustrated, sure. But I didn’t burn down palmetto trees in the atrium and I didn’t fire an equally incendiary email back. I typed it though. 😉
The current boyfriend gets to listen to me bitch about it on the commute too, so there’s that.
No point in this blog. No moral. No words of wisdom. Just venting a little from high atop the thing.