the edge of reason

Work was such that I almost snapped. I blacked out. I went into a cave. I didn't want to talk to anyone. Those who did speak to me weren't given the courtesy of looking away from my computer screen. I feel bad, now, but at the time...

I don't know what was wrong. I just wanted to scream or walk out the window--but we're only on the second floor. I don't handle frustration well, it makes me completely useless and crabby. I felt it squirming beneath my skin like one of those chest-bursting aliens. The worst part was that I couldn't just go off and say go fuck yourself to whoever spoke to me, even though I wouldn't have meant it. No one should have to be around me. I ducked behind the wall of crap on my desk and prepared for an interview, but the questions just weren't coming. I had no idea what I was going to talk to this person about, and all I could think about was how terribly I was going to embarass myself, how I'd just reveal myself as a no-talent hack. I was in a bad place, and I'm not sure how I got there.

I retired to an unused room of the office that's become a recepticle for whatever we don't want visiting business associates to see--namely stacks of magazines and dusty tables. We've set up a phone line in there where we can conduct interviews. The air conditioning didn't quite worm its way into the room, so it was real stuffy, and I couldn't find the light, so it was dark and stuffy. I guess it suited my mood perfectly. I felt terrible as I dialed the number, because I felt I'd done the subject a disservice for not being prepared enough and for writing up lame questions just so i would have something to ask. But it felt much better when she picked up the phone. It went really well. I didn't even ask any of my lame questions.

My mood greatly improved, and after I got home and made a slew of pork chops, had three beers and had did some packing, I felt much better. Look at me--getting stuff done. Then, watching late night talk shows, I realized that I'm happy I didn't walk out that window.

Lost. The season finale. Terry O'Quinn was on Jimmy Kimmel Live, Dominic Monaghan was pretty damn funny on The Tonight Show and Evangeline Lilly (pictured in her chiseled glory) was charming and Canadian on Late Night with Conan O'Brien. I whooped and hollered for all of them, and talked back to the screen even though I'm the only one home. It's been weird the past few days, having the whole house to myself, and all the alone time is driving me crazy; but tomorrow, it will be driving me crazy as I geek out to the television event of the season. I've already got a second six pack cooling off in the fridge, more pork chops from the value pack I bought ready to be wrapped up and reheated prior to the show and no one to embarass myself in front of as I shout at a group of fictional characters. Sad? Maybe. But at this point, I can't think of a better way to blow off stress on a Wednesday night.