The office is baren, the intercom works, my therapist, and compassion from HER

She called me into her office. Did that whole, run in here, ask me what I am doing...if I'm busy and tells me she wants to talk to me. So I follow her, dragging ass. Intentionally shove my co-worker's chair and he laughs. I walk into her office, she says to shut the door. I'm rolling my eyes to the door. As though they can see my frustration. She talks to me about the board. Yes, the board.

Ehem...Sorry, didn't mean to sound so disinterested. Or, distracted.

I mean I'm really trying to be the people pleaser here. I suffer from this stupid, stupid disease where I want everyone to be happy. Even if it makes me unhappy.

So, she asks.....

"Am I putting too much stress on you? How are you feeling?"

I couldn't even begin to disguise my smile, and my shocked look. I raised my eyebrows at her suspiciously....as in....What are you up to?

I told her how I feel. How pissed. How stressed. How I suck at being a Mom. How I suck at being in the Army. How I even suck at keeping up with everything. How I hate that my pay is fucked up. How I hate that I have no clue what I will do with my life. That I am terrified of going to school. That I wish I had more time. More. More. More.

She was compassionate and listened. And complimented me. Yes, she said she was glad that I was such a good worker. And such a busy little bee. She managed to make me feel like shit, for hating her.

Ugh. I hate that I am so forgiving with people most of the time. Like today. We'll be cool. But then she'll press my buttons again. And away we go.

My office caught on fire last week. Tarring the roof. When the fire department put out the fire they flooded my office.

Yup, that's right. Like Noah's Ark. Like the Old Testament or something. If that isn't a sign....Well, I dunno what is. So my office smells like burnt tar. Which is a fine mixture of ass and baby vomit plus lit matches.

Beep. The intercom went off. Yeah, it works! WOO HOO! I couldn't believe it. After all this time of us having to go all the way up or down to find someone...We can now shout it over the intercom and no longer be inconvenienced by malfunction of this feature!

So then everyone goes off on the intercom...

It was like fucking Christmas for all the ol' fogies who work here....

Talking shit. Followed by more shit. By more shit. Me yelling "Ya'll need to find God."
Hang up.
Giggle like a little school girl.
Make fun of old people in hall way.
Tell them to stop being so racist because of my skin color. *note: I'm really pale!*
Run back to baren office.

So the destruction is almost cleaned up. They replaced the ceiling. This weekend we should get new carpet. Fun times. WE got to move a bunch of shit out of one pretty big office in like 1 hour. We were sweating like pigs.

I was upset, because I have to reenliist. And not only do I have to wait until like August, I might not have options. Yay! Why wont the Army just let me go, already?!

It seems like everyday I stress out. Over miniscule insignificant shit. And that frutrates me and stresses me out further!

It's who I AM. I can't change that. I just am what I AM.

My therapist. She's silly. With her warm blue eyes. Her very irish face. Her sweet voice. She comforts me a great deal without a single touch. She listens to my inner fears. My inner voice. The one that hardly gets to speak. I told her of everything that has happened in the past couple of months since I had seen her. She wasn't surprised that I had a breakdown.

I forget about ME. A lot. ME. A LOT. Not such a good thing. Not conducive to successful relationships.

She thinks Randy is a good person for me. I shared my fears with her. Of my future. Of my parenting. Of my career. Of Randy. She reassures me and tells me to live in the present and enjoy that.

So I will. Tomorrow. If I have the time.

Oh wait....I wont...I need more of that...shit.
What am I supposed to do now?