I went to Miami this week.
It was 70 degrees.
My coworkers and I ate at a restaurant owned by Gloria Estefan. If a Cuban offers you a piece of pork – any kind of pork, under any circumstances – take it. It will be delicious.
The Miami downtown Hilton is not as nice as it should be. The toilet in my room was situated too close to the tub and too far from the vanity, so I couldn’t reach the toilet paper while sitting on the throne.
We spent the day at a call center. I remembered why I got my college degree. I overheard a name that trumps Lafawnduh as my favorite name ever: Chiffondah.
I dipped my toes in the Atlantic. It was warm, and the sand was cool. And I took a deep breath and let it out … all of it. All of the stress and worry and blah blah blah.
And then I got back to the real world. Our flight back to the chilly Midwest was delayed by 45 minutes because the water on the plane wasn’t working and they were waiting for moist towelettes for the lavatories.
That’s right. Delta wasn’t concerned about the fact that we didn’t have water, but we couldn’t leave until we had Wet-Naps. There was a serviceman on our flight, on his last leg to get home from Iraq. The trip had taken him seven days, and we delayed him due to Wet-Naps? Seriously?
And that’s sort of the way the rest of the week has been going. January is traditionally the most stressful time at Corporate Behemoth. This year has been no exception.
And now it’s Friday night and I’m camped out with the doxies. They’re snoring and I’m tense, still worried about the 78 things I didn’t get done today, the fires, the frustrations.
I picked a really stupid time to go off Zoloft.
I hate the idea of being dependent on a stupid little pill. It feels like a crutch. And when I went off of it in December, I felt like I had the flu. I figured that any drug that messes with you like that and has an actual withdrawal is not something you want to be taking for any long period of time. I rode it out and eventually stopped feeling like barfing 24/7.
But I’m just so angry. And overwhelmed. And cloudy. I had a date with My Guy tonight and instead, I asked him for a rain check because all I wanted, more than anything in the world, was to sit on my couch. Alone. In sweatpants.
But now I’m on my couch, alone, in sweatpants, and I’m anxious. I don’t have anything I need to be doing, but being stressed seems to be my natural state. Is it just January at Corporate Behemoth, and this, too, shall pass? Or is it something more?
Is this normal?
And why don’t I live on the beach?
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