Half of my desk is currently occupied by the liberal evidence of my meltdown. Wedged between Diet Coke and a oversized mug of coffee is Godiva chocolates. Occupanying that is a sea of crumpled kleenex.

I'm fine. Now.

After a month of mistakes upon MORE mistakes, there comes a point where you just, well, shut-your-office-door-and-bawl-your-bloody-eyes-out-until-you-have-not-a-speck-of-mascara-left.

And then, some well-meaning but unappreciated person opens your office door and then everyone is all "It's ok! You'll be fine! Take a break! Breath!" *pat, pat*

I was, truly, unconsolable. I called a very wise friend, who obviously knows me a little too well, or just females in general. I was advised to stop being a drama queen (me?! DRAMA QUEEN? HOW DARE THAT BE INSINUATED!) and to eat some chocolate, post haste. I did not want chocolate. NO!

After I was appropriate calmed down, I saw the wisdom in eating some Godiva. So, here I sit, properly calmed down, eating chocolate and generally feeling comforted. Just as a note: I don't even LIKE chocolate that much. Obviously, today is the fattening exception.


I feel like a complete and total cliche. Which I very well might be. But at least I have ceased hyperventalating.