Slave to my conscience. I suck.
So, it's snowing. And it's freezing.
I went down to A's for the "weekend" (a.k.a. my new days off are Monday and Tuesday) and when it was time to drive back into Boulder-land, the turnpike was closed. There was some moron or two hanging off the guard rails. We were on I-25 for three hours: two just to get out to the Highway 36 turnpike, and another hour to turn around and go back to A's house. This means, of course, that I would not make it to work on time in the morning.
I called work, and told them I was stranded in Englewood, and that I wouldn't be in town before noon. In fact, I did not make it to work at all today, because I wasn't willing to get back out on the highway until at least noon (to get all those rush-hour crazies out of my way!) and I didn't get back into Boulder until 2:50pm. Well, the stupid part about all of this is that I have a giant-Catholic-SUPERsized conscience. (I know, I'm not Catholic. Some things just can't be helped.) Last night I couldn't sleep, and after a while I couldn't let A sleep, all I could do was worry myself sick while trying to get back into Boulder. Indeed, my stomach isn't particularly happy right now.
My entirely fiction-based theory is that if I use up my excuses on days that I'm not really sick, then something bad will happen and then no one will believe it when I do need time off. And poor A was so damned pissed at me for behaving like a tiny nervous dog that I'm afraid I really screwed things up. I just couldn't relax or enjoy any of the extra time I got to spend with him, and that made him mad. I can't really blame him.
What this really boils down to is this: I'm not used to being in good standing with my employers or, really, with anyone. It sounds strange, I know, especially considering that I'm a perfectionist. But basically, I've had years of conditioning telling me that when things are out of my control it's pretty much certain that someone somewhere will try and hold me responsible, so if I don't make a super-human effort in order to put things right, I should expect the worst. I would like to thank my ex-boyfriend for instilling this fear in me. That fucker can go to hell.
Now I'm going to go find my Zantac, and watch White Christmas.
I went down to A's for the "weekend" (a.k.a. my new days off are Monday and Tuesday) and when it was time to drive back into Boulder-land, the turnpike was closed. There was some moron or two hanging off the guard rails. We were on I-25 for three hours: two just to get out to the Highway 36 turnpike, and another hour to turn around and go back to A's house. This means, of course, that I would not make it to work on time in the morning.
I called work, and told them I was stranded in Englewood, and that I wouldn't be in town before noon. In fact, I did not make it to work at all today, because I wasn't willing to get back out on the highway until at least noon (to get all those rush-hour crazies out of my way!) and I didn't get back into Boulder until 2:50pm. Well, the stupid part about all of this is that I have a giant-Catholic-SUPERsized conscience. (I know, I'm not Catholic. Some things just can't be helped.) Last night I couldn't sleep, and after a while I couldn't let A sleep, all I could do was worry myself sick while trying to get back into Boulder. Indeed, my stomach isn't particularly happy right now.
My entirely fiction-based theory is that if I use up my excuses on days that I'm not really sick, then something bad will happen and then no one will believe it when I do need time off. And poor A was so damned pissed at me for behaving like a tiny nervous dog that I'm afraid I really screwed things up. I just couldn't relax or enjoy any of the extra time I got to spend with him, and that made him mad. I can't really blame him.
What this really boils down to is this: I'm not used to being in good standing with my employers or, really, with anyone. It sounds strange, I know, especially considering that I'm a perfectionist. But basically, I've had years of conditioning telling me that when things are out of my control it's pretty much certain that someone somewhere will try and hold me responsible, so if I don't make a super-human effort in order to put things right, I should expect the worst. I would like to thank my ex-boyfriend for instilling this fear in me. That fucker can go to hell.
Now I'm going to go find my Zantac, and watch White Christmas.