I'm a Bottler

I'm a bottler. I bottle things up. I try to let most things roll off my back but the things that don't, I bottle up. Everything's cool with me. Want to yell and scream at me for something that I have nothing to do with? That's okay. No problem. I know you didn't mean it. The online payroll system crashes at work and I'm not going to be able to pay the whole damn campaign on time now? Oh well, out of my control. I can deal with everyone getting mad. Want to make plans with me and then just never call and never apologize for not following through? It's okay, really. I know we are both busy.

Want to give my sister a strand of gorgeous, priceless pearls for her birthday when I get a check for $25, Grandmonster? Want to casually mention that you gave me a strand years ago that belonged to my great-grandmother that you don't think is worth much of anything if it's even real? Want to talk about how you had Stacy's restrung (but didn't change the clasp since that shows the name of the famous designer who made them) and bought her a gorgeous set of earrings to match as well? Have her put it on and see how it looks in front of Kristy (who never received any pearls, real or fake) and me? Want us to ooh and ah, even? It's okay, really. I understand. I don't take it personally.

Then I'm at a stupid summer planning committee meeting for school. There is a contentious issue which has everyone's nerves a bit raw to begin with. I feel like I'm being personally called out by Ryan, and after hearing what he is saying, end up agreeing with him but I just don't feel like he's listening to what I'm saying. Even though I'm agreeing with him over and over, he won't stop arguing his point. Finally I get mad.

Finally I get mad. At Ryan, at a yelling coworker, at the payroll administration company, at the guy that pushed payroll off onto me even though I already do two--count them TWO-- full-time jobs for the campaign, at the friend who blew me off, at the Grandmonster, at Stacy for being everyone's favorite, at my mom for spending over half the week with Stacy every week (during the only time I have off to actually be around her no less), at my asshole brother and sister-in-law for generally making everyone's lives hell, at my entire fucking family for guilting me into living home for six more months . . . at so much more . . .

But Ryan is the one in front of me. And Ryan is the one I lose it on. I started screaming at him and clapping my hands like a mad woman, and then when he yells back I nearly cried. It was all I could do for the remaining excruciating half hour of the meeting to remain seated at the table and not let a tear slip down my cheek. Blink, blink, open my eyes wide so they evaporate. Breathe deep. Swallow.

Now I'm home crying and letting the remaining contents of the bottle pour out. Gotta empty it out nice and good so that I have someplace to store all this shit for the next month or so.

I'm a bottler.