I guess I should have read the sign at the beginning of the day that said, “Welcome to hell.” This has been the single worst day of my life. I just got home, for reasons I’ll expound on later. I don’t feel like running. I don’t feel like eating. It hurts to eat. I don’t feel like talking. Nothing. And I don’t know how to fix this–this feeling, this situation, this everything, whatever. So surprise, LJ, looks like you’re going to get the brunt of it. And if this computer freezes up on me, I will literally chuck it out the window. I’m not joking in the slightest. After all that crap that happened earlier today, I went to get some food from Cosmic, ordered and stood there in the waiting area, with people all around, bevies of Carolina girls, just talking, eating, whatever, and I was suffocating. I had trouble breathing. I tell myself not to get self-conscious, but I did, without fidgeting, just standing there, stewing, and I hated it. I hated it. I clenched my jaw and just waited for my food, drove the stupid minivan back to the News Services building, and discovered that I had locked my keys in the building. Don’t ask how, or why, or what happened; I just did. Tried to jimmy the lock with a phone card, to no avail. There was nothing in the van that I could have used to pick the lock. I walked back to the van in the parking lot, past a pair of women wrapping up their conversation, trying to act inconspicuous after working the lock, but as I turned around after I got into the van one of the women got into her BMW that was parked right outside the door, so she must have had a key. I tried to flag her down but she just sped away. I’m glad Donald was home, otherwise I wouldn’t have had a key to get back in the apartment.
I can’t finish the Gazette insert which I said I would have done tomorrow morning.
I can’t finish the JCUE newsletter which I said I would have had done by the end of the day today.
I can’t do my billing sheets which are due today.
I can’t do anything.
And it’s my stupid fault. It’s not some sort of accident.
Break out the metaphors. And this sore throat isn’t going away, either.
I don’t know what to do. I don’t know who to call. I don’t have a car to drive. He’s there, I know, and I’ve been talking to Him, asking Him what’s going on… I’m not blaming Him in the least; it would just be nice to know to what end all this is happening, everything is converging at once. I think…I just want to hold someone for a very long time…or be held. Something like that. Something along those lines.
What an abysmal day. I can’t believe I’m not reeling off strings of expletives.
EDIT (10:30) — Thank you Public Safety, thank you mom for Advil, thank you Carolina Inn for printing out the Gazette homepage that proves I do work in this building, thank you God. I’m back in. Now to work. Gonna be a late night.