Yesterday went from fun exciting office work to all-out stress and by ten I took Caleb's champagne offer, snatched the bottle from him, smashed the bottle against the rail, threatened him with the jagged glass of the neck I was holding and promptly burst into tears.
One should always be as threatening as possible while crying, shouldn't they? How do you hold and console a person who's trying to talk to you through great heaving, hitching sobs while they jab a broken bottle in your direction?
You don't. You leave it to a team who will corner and then immobilize her, take her fun new weapon and suggest she change out of her office clothes into warm pajamas and go the fuck to sleep, as the book goes.
And so she did.
I always wanted a reputation as a crazy, tough chick and yet I still don't have it. Instead this morning they're treating me like a small child. PJ made me hot chocolate for breakfast. Lochlan cut my toast into four strips, sprinkled them with cinnamon sugar and for a moment there I was worried he would try to feed me, too. They've got their kid-gloves on and they're concerned with my snappage as am I, but honestly Caleb just picked the wrong time, words and beverage and I'm fairly sure my next alcoholic drink will be served in a plastic cup, if I get a drink ever again, I mean, but really it's the end of January and shit's worse than ever but if you ask me to my face I'll tell you I'm doing just fine, though who's going to ask? Our resolution to talk for four hours a day already fell by the wayside. Or maybe they gave up.
Pretty sure Joel is on the way. Guess I can't exactly make bottlenauts while he talks, can I?
One should always be as threatening as possible while crying, shouldn't they? How do you hold and console a person who's trying to talk to you through great heaving, hitching sobs while they jab a broken bottle in your direction?
You don't. You leave it to a team who will corner and then immobilize her, take her fun new weapon and suggest she change out of her office clothes into warm pajamas and go the fuck to sleep, as the book goes.
And so she did.
I always wanted a reputation as a crazy, tough chick and yet I still don't have it. Instead this morning they're treating me like a small child. PJ made me hot chocolate for breakfast. Lochlan cut my toast into four strips, sprinkled them with cinnamon sugar and for a moment there I was worried he would try to feed me, too. They've got their kid-gloves on and they're concerned with my snappage as am I, but honestly Caleb just picked the wrong time, words and beverage and I'm fairly sure my next alcoholic drink will be served in a plastic cup, if I get a drink ever again, I mean, but really it's the end of January and shit's worse than ever but if you ask me to my face I'll tell you I'm doing just fine, though who's going to ask? Our resolution to talk for four hours a day already fell by the wayside. Or maybe they gave up.
Pretty sure Joel is on the way. Guess I can't exactly make bottlenauts while he talks, can I?