I did not have a good day at work.
Actually, most of the day went swimmingly, except for that bit where I got b*tch-slapped by email. Sticks and stones yada yada, but that doesn’t mean words don’t draw blood. It came partially out of the blue (I had an inkling on Friday that the emailer was a tad psychotic), but I didn’t expect a verbal nutty this morning – complete wth threats. Hello!
The rush. The surge of emotion. I’m trying to put together a paper trail to defend myself, but I cannot type. The blood pours into my face and the fingers are shaking. I try writing instead and I cannot steady the hand; the chicken scratch on the page only serves as a further reminder that I am upset, and somewhere, a dialogue of self-doubt and outrage is churning. I am trembling. I am livid. I am mortified. The mind is racing around like a lemming on speed locked in a cage, and cerebrally I’m talking myself through how I’m feeling and how I need to be a bigger person. I remember to breathe in and out. My face, I am sure, has gone bright red and I seldom to never blush.
Somehow, I didn’t get angry like I thought I would. Which made me paranoid that I’m guilty after all. Which made me anxious about the threats and getting jack-all for support. Which turned into a panic. Which turned into embarrassment. Which turned into defensiveness and the sudden urge to want to run out and bitch to everyone in the world about what a jerk that idiot was and who the hell is he anyway, making threats like that? What is he, twelve??? How DARE he! Ooh, found the anger.
I am still upset, which is partly why I’m writing this down because it’s therapy and because I didn’t quite bitch as much as I would have liked today (I told 5 people – 3 only out of necessity for political reasons, 1 because he’s my husband, 1 for actual catharsis). I’m old enough now to know that some folks are just bitter and unhappy all on their own, and it sometimes has very little to do with me. Yes, the world doesn’t revolve around me, etc etc. And because my imagination is fired up and I’m hungering for material, I want to feed all this emotion back into the book because it’s potent stuff. But I’m still feeling a little too raw, so I’m penning this down as a stub for myself to revisit later.
At the risk of sounding like a tortured thespian wannabe… sometimes, emotions just drain you. Maybe I’ll wake up earlier tomorrow to whip up a character profile, but for now I think I’ll just cuddle in bed and call it a day.
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