3 Bitch Mint Day

I have a high stress job. It’s entirely possible that I think it’s high stress because I feel like I can’t handle things like I used to PFD (Pre-Fibromyalgia Diagnosis). I’ve told my husband time and again that I already gave the best years of my career and now I’d really like to drive a school bus. That’s my go-to dream job that has simple purpose and less stress.

I duck under corporate ladders. Done climbing. Give me the giant steering wheel any day.

Today, in particular, it was very difficult to focus and get on top of things. “Fibro Fog,” they say. Chalk up reason number 54 why I no longer compare to PFD me.

My work To Do list is a mile long, I need to present a webinar tomorrow and I need to travel at the end of the week for an all-day meeting I have not prepped enough for with a client that is high-maintenance. When I return home late on Friday night, I’ll need the weekend to recover physically. And then on Monday I need to travel again. Anticipating all of this today nearly threw me over the edge.

It’s a three Bitch Mint kind of day.

The type of day where I have my three servings of my pain killers, so I can forget about how much my body hurts, largely because of the stress I’m under. I lose my ability to be patient with people. This is especially challenging when it’s a problematic client, and I can’t find my finesse or words to address the verbal crap that was flung at me with grace and diffuse a situation like PFD me used to.

This is really pissing me off.

What time did I take my last pill?

 

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