After a few hours sleep, hopelessly awake at 5:30 am, I spent much of this morning under the effect of television paralysis, then went to take a shower for work. Somewhere in there I managed to clean up dried cat doodies and vomit from the floor.
I went to take a shower for work, that "you stupid, stupid girl" voice off and on. The ill feelings have gone from a generalized absence-of-God sort of feeling, as described in a recently previous post, to that clawing, agitated demon feeling.
I can't settle on anything - not a chore, not a song, not a thought, not a television station. I flip back and forth and all over the place.
I drove to work, arrived to a full parking lot with a stone in my gut. I was supposed to work a party today, along with another waitress, someone who has been there a while (longer than me) and that I trust to be of significant help for the event, so, I wasn't worried about it at all. When I came in, I found out that it was only supposed to be a "twelve top," which means, if you are an outsider to the profession and would have to guess, we were having twelve people (not a hard guess, is it?). My colleague - again, an experienced "server" (snooty name for "waitress" that we're supposed to use) - felt she could handle it herself (she could, in fact, and I probably could've as well - there was no need for the both of us) and was upset that she had to share it (and the tips), no offense to me (none taken).
I was so down in the dumps (what a ridiculous phrase for the mammoth beast), thinking things like how insane it is that people are going in to steakhouses and feeding their fat selves when there are people starving in the world (which is true, whether you are depressed or not; everyone should think about that now and then), and there was Christmas music playing and...I ended up in the office with another random weep.
The bartender came in at one point and told me that I looked the type to blow the place up and to let her know so she could leave before I did anything. I think she was just trying to cheer me up with some humor. It worked a little.
The manager came in and hugged me and told me to go home and to call my psychiatrist and then to call her later and let her know I'm okay, meaning not-dead, I think. I don't think she expects okay as in okay-okay.
So I came home and immediately felt like a fuck up for losing my shift.
It's not like I don't want to be at work - this isn't like teaching, I really do like my line of work. It suits me very well. I come home and bitch about stuff, but I like this so much better than teaching. We live in an area of high poverty, so tips aren't great; it should pay better, and I shouldn't have to work so many hours for so little money, but - the work, I like.