The Bloody Doors Off

This weather is about a month behind schedule. And it’s not  helping that what few breaks I’m taking at the office (note: I said taking, it’s my choice) there’s no sun to step out into.

Thanks again for the light therapy box, brother. It’s really helping right now.

I haven’t been hugely ranty. Oh, I get pissed off. Fuck, I can go 0-60. I’m just not taking it here. As often.

An outlet, that’s what I think I need. Something to channel this shit.

I’ve been trying to let go, of negative emotion, of taking affront to things that happen completely out of my control. Until recently, I wasn’t very aware that I was even feeling it. But the streetcar/bus ride from hell, after 11pm. Fuck. I screamed, I slammed my body into the shelter.

I don’t know where this is coming from. Or how long it’s been there, unnoticed.

Fight or flight. It’s like that. Plays into my anxiety too. That’s the flight option. Full-blown panic attack, scrambling for lorazepam.

I get so damned hyperfocused at work, which in a sense is good, but it’s got its fallback. (And that was the weakness I answered honestly at the interview.) I missed an email about a meeting, because I was ensconced in an Excel file trying to crack the DNA of a chart that only had 3/4 of the numbers on the hard copy.

An hour ago I pre-cooked a bunch of rice so I could pack a dinner tomorrow. Not lunch. Dinner. Because I already suspect I’m going to be working late.

I need an outlet. Something to blow off steam.

Before I rain down something truly brutal.