I was in control all day. The to-do list for leaving a job with some ounce of grace is hellishly long, especially when you basically built the team from the ground up, know stuff that nobody else knows, and are trying to set up your successor for some amount of success.
I was very matter-of-fact when the ladyparts nurse called to say that one of my hormone levels is a mere 1 / 3 of what it should be, and a trip to the reproductive endocrinologist is definitely in order.
I was poised at the kitchen table, doing some extra work while waiting for My Guy to get home. We were going to go to dinner at my favorite vegetarian restaurant and then go to an event put on by the local indie book seller. I was being productive.
And he was late.
He was late enough that we would be pushing it to get through dinner and make the event on time.
The event that we were attending to celebrate my birthday, which is tomorrow.
He got home and promptly spilled pop all over the floor.
I put the dogs in their kennels and then just sat in the car. Driving away from the house, I just couldn’t help it. “I’m mad. I’m sorry. I’m just really mad.”
“Babe, I had a conference call at 5. I had to be on it so that I didn’t have to get on another call tonight at 8. I’m sorry.”
“I know. I’m just – I’m just really, really mad.”
And then I started to cry. Ugly cry. Gasping, sniveling, huh-huh-huh crying.
We ended up eating burgers sitting in the car at a park. I couldn’t stop ugly crying. I just couldn’t stop! There’s so much change. There’s so little control. And with all the people leaving Corporate Behemoth, there are lots of good-bye happy hours scheduled. Nobody is throwing me a happy hour. And it hurts my feelings.
I know that in a few days, I will walk away from the insanity, and I will focus on righting my ship, on getting these hormones figured out, and getting myself in order. But right then? I just had to ugly cry.
As we sat in the car, we watched a father and daughter play tennis. They weren’t very good.
“Would you consider your tennis skills better or way better than those being displayed right now?” my dear husband asked.
This just made me cry more. “I went out for tennis my freshman year,” I said. “And I was so bad that the coach told me I didn’t have to come to practice if I didn’t want to.”
“That is horrendous. That’s a great story, but just terrible,” he said.
Another sob came. “I knooooooow! What a bitch! I was trying, and she was so mean! And I’m never going to get pregnant! And nobody wants to drink beer with meeeee!”
I might be a touch exhausted, and have just a tiny issue with proper perspective at the moment. This, too, shall pass.