No, Captain Obvious, I am so NOT ok.

Oh, ladies and gentlemen, it was a spectacularly crappy day indeed. I’ve been wallowing in a cesspool of self-pity, treading sewage and spitting it back out after I slip under in complete and utter exhaustion, and I hope to make you as miserable as I am. Oh YES I DID.

The Boss made the announcement at the morning meeting that come Friday I’d be taking the last train out of town. There were a few dropped jaws. But Koko raised one eyebrow, and I could be wrong, but I think she was suppressing a smile. The second I walk out the door Friday night she’s probably going to piss all around and on my desk. The new designer will sit down and lower her eyebrows and twitch her nose, but she won’t be able to place that oddly ominous odor. But Koko will smell her fear.

I feel like I’m in a bad dream and can’t wake up. Or maybe just got voted off Survivor. Perhaps more accurately, I am not unlike the girl who doesn’t get a rose and has to leave the mansion in five minutes, and you last see her sobbing uncontrollably and is wailing, “What haaaapppppeeeennnneeddd?!”
*sob*choke*snort*
“I thought he LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIKED meeeeeee!”
*huge inhale*snert*cough/sob*
“We had such an amazing conneeeeeeeectioooooooonnnn!”
And the last you see of her is a sobbing, drooling, snotting train wreck in a prom dress riding off in the limosine still bawling and ranting, “I’m going to find someone who will appreciate me. It’s his loss and someday he’ll realize and then he’ll be sorry.” And you know she’s just saying that to console herself, and you’re actually embarrassed for her.

Maybe I’m having such a hard time with this because it started out like a happy bedtime story, one that smiles grandly and promises a sugary blissful finis.
*Wayne’s World flashback sound effects*
Right after graduation, I hand-delivered about 30 resume packets around town and the Boss emailed me and said he didn’t have a position open for a designer, but he wanted me to know he thought my resume packet was very impressive. Then he called me and offered me some freelance work for him. Then he said the work was actually like an audition, and I had gotten the starring role. Then after I started, The First Chair told me how much everyone liked me and my work, and about that same time, The Second Chair started circling the drain. I remember thinking, why is she having such a hard time with me? Why would she want to leave this place? I love it here… these are great people etc etc. After she quit/got fired, I moved into her desk, and The First sat in the middle so when the new designer started, she would be able to help both of us easier. (This is the part of the story that you shield the kiddies’ eyes from and cover your own face with your fingers, yet you peek through because you just can’t help it.) The moment the new designer started, The First started being borderline hostile towards me. Why, I don’t know; maybe she just was under too much pressure of babysitting two newbies and had both her twenty-something kids still living at home and leaving their wet towels on the bathroom floor. But whenever I spoke to her, she went all rolling eyeballs and fangs. So I quit talking to her. And asking her questions. And started making mistakes. And Koko started drooling and beating her hairy, lice-ridden chest. And my circle-the-drain dance began. It started out all Good Night Moon, and ended all Legends of the Fall.

And why is it when you have been sobbing uncontrollably and just barely gotten yourself composed and thinking, ok, I can be an adult now, then someone walks in, looks at you, tilts their head, and says, “Are you OK?” This leads you to ruin all your hard work as your face crumples and you lose it all over again. Why does the question “Are you OK?” make you instantly oh-so-not-OK? Three damn times this morning this happened to me. I feel like someone shoved a couple handfuls of sand under my eyelids.

Are you ready to slit your own throat yet? Then my work here is done.
*smacking hands together to get the dust off*
And I’m not even going to apologize for it, either. Oh YES I DID.

Rip it, roll it, and punch it, dude.

Author: Dory

Believer. Wife. Mom. Deaf chick. ADD-addled. Photographer. Graphic designer. Blogger. Guano whacknut. Not necessarily in that order.