Lately, I’ve been letting the rain roll off my back at work. Not entirely, but pretty effectively. Everybody’s snappish right now, and I’ve been maintaining a fairly detached attitude about it all. Called out in a meeting for not doing something? I explain calmly and with compassion that yes, yes I did do that … and you sat through an hour-long presentation about it two months ago, remember?
I have been flexible. I haven’t been hiding in the ladies’ room. Much.
In the past, I’ve had a balanced, focused view of my stressful job situation until about Wednesday. Wednesday was typically the day the shit hit the fan. The last week or two, this hasn’t been an issue, as I have been channeling my inner saint.
Saint Cha Cha evidently went out for a smoke break and never came back. There are now cracks in my shiny, nonplussed veneer. I’m starting to stress. Just a teensy bit. But instead of leaving meetings to go cry in the ladies’, I’m sitting in meetings and making the decision whether or not to get upset.
Let’s just put it this way: I am still kind to children and animals. But if you work in IT at Corporate Behemoth, you might want to stay out of the crosswalk if you see me behind the wheel. Like I said, I’m no saint.
Do I still qualify as balanced if I spend the evening wrapped up in blanket on my couch because I can’t muster the strength to do anything else? Is that still, like, emotionally healthy and shit?