funky
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This is week one back with you. It's not supposed to be like this.
'zac: Well, it HAS only been a little over a week... has nothing been good for you? Has it really been so awful with me?
me: Well, I am doing more thinking before speaking and holding my tongue when I would normally just get really upset.
'zac: Ok... what else?
me: Stress is better.
'zac: What do you mean?
me: Well, they put me on the floor Saturday and *bam* instant 6 tables when I'm used to hiding behind the bar, a couple bottles of beer and an occasional sandwich.
'zac: And?
me: It was hectic, but it turned out pretty decent.
'zac: So what's not right yet?
me: I still feel fuzzy and foggy during the day, like I'm on autopilot, but it's a different kind of autopilot. I can focus on the stupid stuff I hate to do during the day and get it out of the way. It seems I am actually getting more done, more effectively.
'zac: So I'm not all bad for you then, am I?
me: *sigh* It's not you, it's me. I don't know that this is what I want for myself.
'zac: I don't know if it's a question of want anymore; it may now be a question of need.
me: *tears* and that's what I don't want. I've been through so much by myself, why now? why do I need help now? I'm no less strong than I was before. I can do it alone.
'zac: let me help you. give me a chance; don't stop before we start. and there's nothing wrong with someone helping you... you'd do well to accept help a little more often.
me: we'll see.
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