Go away.

There's no funny here, today. You will not hurt my feelings if you leave now.

It's depressing. And sad.

You've been warned.

My day started out good enough, punctuated by some particularly wonderful words exchanged in some emails. That euphoria didn't last long.

I had to go to a doctor's appointment on my lunch break, and some complete fucking stranger made a comment to me in the elevator that shouldn't have bothered me, but it did.

Throughout my life, I have learned to dismiss the comments of strangers as just that - comments from people who don't know me. For the most part, I don't concern myself with the opinions of others. For the most part. Which means, there are those little fucked up moments when my fragile little mind allows these comments to seap in, and it just radiates, and I nearly break down.

Here's the part where you all go, "Wow, Andria. You're fucking crazy."

Yeah. I know.

On top of that, before I left work, Diva, the fanny-pack wearing uptight IT guy in our office screamed at me about how I fucked up the checkwriting program I use for accounts payable (which, with my access is IMPOSSIBLE). He loves to feel superior, so when he goes off on these tangents, he rants and raves about how no one knows how to use the programs he creates, and he doesn't understand why someone "who doesn't even have a college degree" is allowed to have such involvement in the company's accounting. Fucking prick.

He just screamed like a fucking banshee for like a half hour at me. I wanted to rip his head off and shove it down his neck so he'd just shut the hell up.

I love that I work in a place that just allows this kind of thing to happen.

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I came home, still pissed off about everything. It festered just enough that I had a small panic attack (I don't know if I have talked about it here before, but I have anxiety problems occasionally... rarely these days). I tried to call Kay, who is one of the very few people who can talk me down in these situations. DMX told me that she was at some work function and couldn't be reached.

I had to work through it myself, until finally, I could breathe again. Less than five minutes later, my friend Sean called me to tell me that my oldest friend, John, was admitted to the hospital earlier today. He's dying. He won't go home, and it is likely just a matter of weeks, if not days.

I have known for 15 years that this day would come. John and I have talked about it for hours. I have written pages and pages and pages in my journal about this. I have rationalized in my mind that, given his failing health in the last few months, he will be free from the burden of this disease, and in a place where he doesn't have to worry about having the AIDS stigma attached to him any longer. He would be relieved. No more suffering.

But I am not ready. I am not ready one fucking little bit. I don't know how I will handle seeing him, knowing that it is going to be the last time I ever see his face, hear his voice, hold his hand. God, I feel so selfish for feeling this way, when he is the one who has to accept that his death is eminent.

I feel like a selfish asshole, but I can't help it.

I love this man.

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And, at the very end of all of this, I am dealing with some feelings for someone that I wasn't expecting.

I wish he was here right now.