Actually, there is a biscuit. Shortbread biscuits, to be exact, which I have purchased from the vending machine in the cafeteria (I was totally startled to see them there next to the Doritos, but I wasn't complaining), and which I am drinking with tea. Not just any tea, but the Stash Chai that Kevin and Karina picked up for me last night. They bought me two boxes. (And three separate pints of ice cream/sorbet, but that's a longer story). It's hard to find in Oakland. They indulged me all weekend, really. I am so lucky.
I am also exhausted, and have spent all day trying not to cry. There's nothing wrong. I just stayed up all night talking to Kevin about some serious long-term things that we need to figure out (home and family and compromises, oh my), and we may even have made some progress, but I *knew* I had to get up at 5:30 for a plane, and I knew that I'd only managed to sleep 5 hours the night before (I went to sleep around 4 on Sunday, and planned to sleep 'til noon, but woke up around 9 instead, I think because Mary Doria Russell's _Children of God_ was calling to me in my sleep, saying "Finish me...finish me...", so I got up and did (wonderful!)), and I just blithely ignored the sleep deficit, because it was more important to talk to Kevin, of course.
And I became so tired that I was shaking.
Which left me helplessly weeping at 5 a.m., because I didn't think I could cope with showering and getting dressed and going to the airport and going directly to work and surviving many many hours before I could go home and sleep. (I had already decided to just get up early early Wednesday morning to do Clean Sheets instead of trying to stay up). I couldn't cope. I just couldn't.
I always cope. It's something I've always prided myself on. That I may fall apart after a crisis, but that when there's something to get done, I get it done.
That was not happening this morning.
Kevin suggested changing my flight to the evening and calling in sick, since I certainly felt cruddy. That way I could have slept during the day. We even called to find out what it would cost, but it would have been $50 to change the flight, plus the money I'd lose for not working today, and rent will be due soon. I fretted about that until Kev told me not to worry about the money and just figure out whether I thought I could cope with the day or not. I didn't know.
I couldn't make a decision; I just kept crying.
Finally he convinced me that I'd feel better if I showered, and that I could decide after that if I felt up to going. And I did shower, and I did feel better, and I decided to go to the airport at least. Just take it in stages. If I couldn't handle the airport, I could turn around and go back to his place. If I got to Oakland, and couldn't handle going to work, I could just go home and call in sick. And maybe I would actually make it in to work, which would obviously be ideal.
Well, I made it. And it's now 4:30 and I am trying not to count the minutes 'til 5:15, when I start to head home. I'm happy that I managed not to fall apart in the airport or the plane or at work -- I *hate* crying in public. I despise it. It's odd, since I don't judge other people badly for it; I just feel awful for them. But I can't stand it in myself. I suppose I should be happy that I managed to hang together...
...but I can't keep from thinking about that half hour this morning when I just couldn't do anything but cry, for no real reason. Nothing was wrong. I was only tired.
There are all sorts of good things going on in my life. A lot of the things that have been stressing me out (job stuff, CS financing, Kevin and I difficulties, even homework) have been getting steadily better over the last few weeks. Maybe I just need time to assimilate that and believe it. Maybe I'll be fine in a few more weeks.
Tonight, I'm going to sleep eight hours. At least.