And the award goes to…

I melted down in class tonight.
The painting I started last week, that was looking ok, I fucked up.
Over worked it.
And I hated it.

And I cried.

Tears of frustration, and tears of grief.

Not just for the painting but for everything in my life at the moment.

8 more shifts before we shut the doors.
8 shifts of acting like it is all okay.

I should get an Academy Award at the end of it.

Each day it is more of the same. Holding that smile as I face the customers who are either pissed or sad or both.

Reassuring, informing, the same questions answered,
And over
And over again.

And I just have to keep smiling, and although I agree with them, I try to spin a positive.

“New adventures” I say, when they express concern about my job.

But while the shelves in the shop are still full, the storeroom is empty as we clean, and pack up stock and send it away.

It is so damn depressing, saying goodbye.

5 years of memories, good and bad.

And then today, a regular customer told me his wife had died.

I forced back the tears then, but tonight, the floodgates opened.

The act collapsed.

The art didn’t work

And I cried in room of women, some who barely know me.

My head aches, but the waterproof mascara worked.

I feel hollow though.

And exhausted.

So tonight I sleep,

And tomorrow, the show will go on.

“Yes, it sucks, but there are new adventures ahead”

1 2 3 …and smile.

*my solution to fucking up the painting? Paint the whole bloody thing black and start over and I still hate it.
Perhaps this weekend I can salvage something from the wreckage <!–more–

18 thoughts on “And the award goes to…”

  1. Can I tell you something?

    I envy you for your meltdown.

    I wish I could subtract about a dozen profanity laced eruptions and replace then with one good soaking public crying jag.

    Such has not been my lot in life so far.

    But the busy season is not over, and my job’s motto seems to be, “This place is falling apart around me!” “That’s okay, as long as it’s falling forward it’ll be fine.”

    1. I guess is is more acceptable for girls to cry. Which is crazy because there is something about tears that really helps lighten the load.
      One more week and then it will be better…

  2. I don’t know how you’ve held up so far. I don’t blame you a bit for losing it. I’m sorry it was in public, but I’m sure every one of those other people in art class has had a similar experience. Hugs to you.

    1. My teachers says it happens often in class. Outside stuff just bubbles up when you are in a friendly safe place surrounded by friends.
      Nice to know I am not the first

  3. Sometimes everything seems to be going wrong, and it gets overwhelming. I don’t imagine anyone begrudging you a meltdown under those circumstances.

  4. Oh bless hon. :( What a rough day. A good cry is very cleansing. It also shows that you are human and have empathy and a soul.

    Things will get better….try and stay positive. You have many good memories to take with you. Leave the bad ones at the door before you walk out. HUGS xxx

    ps: About the painting….I am sure in a few days something will inspire you. Pop on your fave music, and sip some wine…..DANCE.

  5. Staying strong & wearing a smile for other people when you’re going through a situation like that isn’t easy. It needed to come out eventually, I guess. Things will work out. You’ll see.

  6. You’ve been hanging in there for quite a while now. Granny always said that an occasional breakdown was very therapeutic.

    As soon as I read the last line of your post, the lyrics to the Stones’ “Paint it Black” are playing in a loop in my head.

    Hang in there my friend…

  7. Holy crap! It’s been a shamefully long time since I’ve visited you, Mynx! I had no idea about your office! That’s crazy!

    Well, I’m back, and I’m looking forward to staying more on top of things.

    Meltdowns are an essential part of life, I think. Sometimes your whole system just needs to purge itself of all the pressure or stress or other such emotional strain. Keep hanging in there.

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