Maybe a breakdown of the day is in order, to keep myself honest:
Because first I was an a-hole -- yes, I want to spell it that way now thanks to the Guardians of the Galaxy line "What a bunch of a-holes" -- to someone who I think deserved it: I'd gotten off the bus on my way to work Monday morning, and waited for one vehicle that was already moving through the intersection to go through, and since then it was technically my turn I started to cross the street, and the driver waiting to turn right onto the part of the road I was crossing was creeping into the intersection. I looked at him. He gestured for me to keep moving like he was doing me a favor by slightly, slightly pausing to let me go through. And for a moment I stopped. And for another moment I briefly considered moving back to right in front of his vehicle, but that -- that could've gone badly. (Man versus car? Who usually wins?) For that guy, waiting five seconds was too much of an imposition. So yeah, I think I was an a-hole to someone who deserved it.
Then I was an a-hole to someone who didn't deserve it. I got testy with a co-worker I was talking to over the phone; we'd had a communication breakdown as I sought advice of what to say to a customer. I got testy over that breakdown. This was at the start of my shift. I wound up being cranky for a chunk of the day. And that was before I heard yesterday's, you know, death news from other co-workers talking about it. And talking about it, to my shocked ears, almost conversationally. At least I didn't then harangue them for how they were talking about it...but I kind of wanted to. Because I was being an a-hole.
I need to remember what my friend popfiend likes to say: "It's a moment, not an eternity." So I didn't make an ass of myself with more co-workers...but oh, I was tempted.
And, by shift's end, on my way to the bus stop, I was haggard and so glad I'd reached my weekend. I leaned against the bus stop post. I also cried. I needed to. Then I got home knowing I'd need to write; for now, writing in my bedroom is not the most comfortable thing to do so I wanted to do it inside, but one of the roommates was here and I realized I'd likely be lousy company. So I took one of my chairs to the porch and sat, and wrote, and thought, there. Yes, it was warm, but I've lived through over a dozen Virginia summers; I could handle it. I digested people's reactions to yesterday, and watched the sky fill with dusk.
I think I'm done being an a-hole. For a while.