Somedays you're the windshield...

...today I was the bug.

Today was one of those days that started out seemingly great.
My pants felt a little looser
I slept in a little
I made it to work on time
It was a sunshiney warm day.
Today was one of those days that ended up with me at home
in my underwear
wanting to alternately cram handfuls of cake
and cream cheese icing in to my mouth.
Sounds awesome, right? Wrong.
I swear, we all have those days when we feel a little under-appreciated where we are.
Don't get me wrong, I love my job, I love my boss, I love the guys I work with.
But there are some days...
(usually between day 8-18 depending on who you are)
When you just want to cry.
And you don't want to hear how bad other folks have it.
Or how thankful you should be that this-n-this isn't happening to you.
And you really don't have it that hard.
You just want to wallow in self-pity for ONCE!

I work in administration.
It can be a thankless job.
Where careless people leave their own tasks to the last minute
and ask you to complete them for them.
Even when you have your own work to do.
And they took the day off.
Or planned (and I used that word loosely) everything at the last minute.
And F#@&!D it up.
And want you to make it work.
I'm not Tim Gunn. I don't want to hear that phrase outside of the work room.
Or Mood.
I digress, however.
Long and short of this story is this: There was a business trip.
It had been laid out a month prior.
Hotel rooms were not booked
Until 4:30 Friday (3 hours before planes were leaving)
When I got called to book them.
It was 4:30 on a Friday.
A Friday that I could have left early
Which never happens.
Ever.
But this was one of those days.
But I didn't get to leave early
I had hotels to book.
Fine, I get it, you all say this is my job.
Well, if it's my job, give me the full opportunity to book your shit.
I would've had this booked 3-4 weeks ago.
When the flights were booked.

I wound up venting a little when someone touched a nerve today.
I would up in tears after/during venting.
I felt silly because I am a girl.
A girl who is ovulating.
And no one gets it.

So I came home and decided I had three options:

1. Buy a bottle of wine
(I liked this option best, but, upon arriving at the liquor store, which is on my way home, I realized my debit card was in my jacket I wore out on Friday night. Fail. Epic Fail, 'cause wine cures everything)

2. Go for a run and do situps until I feel less angry
(this too is a great option because it is double-productive. Operation HB gets some wings, I blow off some steam and feel better...not as good as wine would make me feel, but close)

3. Blog it out.
(Clearly, this option has been selected. Thank-you readers, if you are plural, for paying attention to me vent)

Elsie P

PS - I have actually decided to incorporate all three of these. I am squeezing my two-sizes-too-big ass in to a pair of two-sizes-too-small yoga pants and am heading out for a run. With Debit Card in hand. I figure if I loop around, I can hit the liquor store on the way back. WIN!