My Misery Is Miserabler Than Your Misery

My Misery Is Miserabler Than Your Misery

First off, infinite thanks for the incredible outpouring of love and support you all gave me on Monday’s post.  I knew you guys would be awesome about it, but I can’t begin to tell you how much all your kind words and encouragement mean to me. I, lover of run-on sentences, TMI, and endless rambling, can’t find enough words to express my love for you all.  So you know it’s like way huge.  🙂 An update:  The husband and I are going to a counselor this week to discuss local support group options, and talking to his primary care physician about a potential fibro specialist who may be able to give us some better tips on coping. Plus we talked/cried/hugged it out, so things are on the path to getting better. That all said, here’s today’s post: Don’t Mind Me While I Momentarily Become an Annoying Tween… Monday’s post had me entering the office Monday  morning with a particularly stormy outlook.  Having spent the weekend dwelling on a post that summed up weeks of anger and sadness and worry and stress, I’d finally begun to realize—really realize—that my husband wasn’t going to “get better” and this was going to be our life going forward. Having this hit me left me like one big raw nerve. I’ve gotten pretty good at laughing off my coworker’s Eeyore attitudes.  It’s the only way you can get through spending 8 hours a day with people without having their shoddy mindsets bring you down. But this Monday, I wasn’t in the mood for any of it.  Oh, was I not in the mood for it… So when my coworkers began their usual grumbling and groaning about all the petty hassles of being a downtrodden secretary (My printer isn’t working!  I’m only getting a 55-minute lunch…