I'm just your average, everyday, divorced 38 year old girl -- overweight, tragically unhip,
and trying to make a life for myself. I live with two furry beasts, Dave and Abby, whose
feline mission in life is to choke me with their fur. Nothing special.
Wednesday evening. I didn't say anything here, but I'd gone a whole week without bingeing and was really starting to feel good about the whole health and fitness thing again. Hope sprang eternal! Yeah, and then it all fell apart and I still don't know why. And then I started sinking into depression. And then I went to a conference for the State Public Affairs Committee of the Junior Leagues of California, worked my hiney off, crammed lots of great info into my head, and then got home. (Wow, three days that felt like a week - fabulous!) And then I went to work the next day and it really sucked. No, not like "Wow, I was busy at work and I had tons of meetings" suckage. And so I didn't go to work today.
I actually cried in my office with the door shut yesterday - it shouldn't be like that. I don't want to be afraid to go to work because I know it's going to suck so much that I'll have nightmares about it. And yet I love my company and I love many of the people that I work with, but I am fundamentally questioning whether or not I want to continue managing people. (Projects, no problem, but people are not linear, they're not predictable, and you can't manipulate them to fit your evil, unrealistic needs. Well, I suppose you could, but I'm pretty sure that Amnesty International comes to visit when you do.)
So, I'm depressed or maybe just fed up - I'm having trouble lately discerning the difference - and I'm questioning what I want to be when I grow up. Then I remember that I am grown up. And then the scales dip onto the side of "depression". *sigh*
