Day 214 Haunting

I had a kinda crappy shift last night. The kind that makes me walk out the door wanting to cry a little...and so I did on the way home, occasionally grabbing the top of my hoddie over my face over how dumb and idiotic I can be and wondering why on earth was I in a profession where lives depended on my ability for common sense.

Coming home from a bad shift isn't really new. If anything, having a pay period without having at least two bad days would likely make me wonder if death was around the corner. But today was a little different. Because I was frustrated and upset and just really fucking sad that when I came home, I found myself taking it out on my family. To be fair, what ended up being a thunderous fight started out well enough with me making a suggestion. It gradually intensified to the point where I seriously thought a fight was going to break out in our home and it really disturbed me to find myself thinking, "Good. I need to hit something."

I'd like to say I regret it and that I wish I hadn't let the argument escalate like it did. But I don't. That fight needed to happen eventually and I'm kind of glad it's out there. What I'm not proud of is that the only reason it got as bad as it did was because of my utter inability to get rid of my bad work mojo. I made a promise to myself when I was younger to never let a bad day at work make a bad day at home. Too many times my mom had come home with the first words out of her mouth being screeching orders and angry mutterings that she likely wished were aimed at some coworker or boss, and my dad had had a fair share of days when it was best to avoid talking to him altogether and wait until he'd taken a nap in front of the TV lest you risked having your head bitten off because some dumb student with an attitude pissed him off.

I need to watch myself better when I have a bad night. Usually, a trip to the gym evens me out so that by the time I get home, whatever anger I had when I left was channeled into a 60-minute workout on a 13 ramp incline and smoothed over by a few floor exercises. I can handle being angry and a car ride home with intermittent crying. What I can't handle is knowing that I let that shit follow me into my home.