This morning didn't start out too bad. I knew ahead of time that someone was cranky about something that happened last night. Okay, a couple of somethings. One of the somethings was a missed deadline. I finished the task ahead of the deadline that is posted, but apparently behind the deadline that is not posted, that nobody else has to follow, and it's all my fault.
I thought I was dealing with that pretty well, and then came the phone call. It was a personal call, on my cell phone. I had to take the phone into the office because the person on the other end wasn't listening to my point of view. In fact, my point of view was a "weak excuse" in his words.
I had, apparently missed another deadline.
This was a personal matter. I had agreed to perform a certain task. I thought I still had time, but apparently although Person A said the person (Person B) for whom the task was to be performed would have things going on this week, I was supposed to do it anyway. And I was supposed to make sure that Person C was there, too.
I objected to being responsible for making sure Person C was involved. For one thing, I don't want Person C's business to be my business, and vice versa. I have a hard enough time doing my own responsibilities and, to be honest, failing at most of those. So to tell me I have to make sure Person C fulfills their responsibilities as well, seems pretty harsh.
As do the words, "weak excuse."
This conversation brought back all the times I listened to the disappointment in my dad's voice. I was never good enough, never did things fast enough or soon enough to please him. I eventually had to tell myself that nothing I ever did would please him, and stop trying.
So this renewed my childhood memories and painful feelings. I've tried to get past them all my life. But I feel like I've been a disappointment to Dad since the day I was born a girl. And how do you get past that?
So all day, I've been in an emotional turmoil, upset and angry. I was going to just go home after work, but decided to do some grocery shopping the Cayla had requested. When I got home, I brought in some of the groceries, but the garbage bags fell out of the bag onto the lawn and it was about the last straw. I rehearsed in my mind what I was going to say when I entered the house: "I'm done. You guys get the rest of the stuff and put it away."
What came out of my mouth instead was, "thank you, thank you, thank you" and then sobs. Cayla had cleaned the kitchen. Really, really cleaned it. There had been boxes from when we moved in almost three years ago that had never been gone through, but they are gone now. She did an amazing job. But the shock on top of my emotions brought me to tears.
I still have the problem of the unfinished task and the harsh feelings brought on by the phone call. But I'll deal with that later.