Why is it that I let myself get so stressed out–strike that–obsessed out about things that I can’t fix that I come home and literally stuff myself with hate food? The only person this activity is damaging is me! My dumb ass can assign any name to my behavior that I want to but in the end it comes to the same, doesn’t it?
I hate days like today because so much was wrong at work, so many mistakes made that I was too late to fix and I just let it get its nasty fingers in an iron grip and unleash the beast of absolute bitchiness. I’m certainly bothered that every time this happens I lash out at whichever co-worker’s idiocy has brought these feelings on me. I know, even as I’m being super cunty to someone that there is a better way to handle it. A way to not be quite so rude and still get my point across; but then that other part of me asks what the hell difference it will make. Joe Blow is just going to do the same thing tomorrow. But what do I do? I make myself into a super ornery bitch and then come home and stuff myself so full that food is literally piled up from stomach to esophagus like one giant kabob.
Christ almighty. This, ladies and germs, is the very definition of insanity. I’m a crazy fucker who should not be allowed to be unsupervised, less I cause myself bodily harm and discomfort or add to my climbing ceiling of debt. Has the United States raised the debt ceiling simply because of me? It’s highly possible. (It’s also possible that I have no fucking idea what the debt ceiling actually is and am just babbling at this point to keep myself from sticking my finger down my throat to induce vomiting.)
And so now I’ll lie here miserable and wishing I was smart, regretting my choices of the afternoon but still knowing that I have it pretty damn good. No day and no job and no co-worker is perfect and not them or I am without fault or error. The only difference is no one is berating me over my stupidity. What they should be asking is why the fuck they should listen to someone who came home and made the conscious decision to eat more than was necessary or comfortable. Someone who ate dinner, then dessert, and thought “I am so full, but I’m going to keep shoveling it in.” I can’t say that I blame them.
Even this blog post is stupid. Fuck me.