Tuesday was a culimination of a lot of stressful things, and I was not at the top of my game. It's been a very rough few weeks, and I'd be lying if I said I was dealing with it all well.
Casey passed by, and I gave a distracted response to his greeting. I considered avoiding him, since my mood and looks were not exactly impressive, but in all honesty, I hoped that chatting with him could cheer me up. So, when my 1:00 meeting was abruptly called off (due to the overwhelming and sudden influx of additional tasks for my boss to face), I took advantage of the breather to stop by and apologize for my less-than-optimal interaction earlier.
He asked what was wrong, and I gave a very condensed, vague overview of my getting chewed out by the boss because of a series of misunderstandings and dropped balls, my frustration at The Husband acting like a somewhat self-absorbed and oblivious ass, the recent devilish behavior of my children, and a general lack of motivation.
"And," I concluded in frustration, "I look like crap today, partly because I am putting on weight everytime I manage to lose some!"
"It's all that pot you're smoking," Casey said facetiously. "Seriously, black tar heroin or cocaine would be much more slimming. Pot just gives you the munchies."
"Nicotine is an effective appetite surpressant," I countered, "and cigarettes are a lot cheaper."
"Yeah, but then it gets all in your hair, and your clothes..." he scowled.
"Eh, good point," I conceded. "I could just to back to my eating disorder."
"You had an eating disorder?" he asked, surprised. "Bulimia?"
"Yeah, not severe," I explained, "when I was in high school, some, and mostly college. My parents probably didn't even realize it, because I was living on my own."
"That's pretty cool!" Casey exclaimed.
Most folks hear about my mental issues and consider me flawed. Casey takes my screwed up past as an interesting layer to my personality.