Apparently I handle stress well. At least that’s what people keep telling me.
Work can get stressful, especially when there’s a line out the door and people picking up 5, 9, even 14 drinks for the office. And with a relatively new guy at the register things can get even more crazy. Me? I just ride it out. I know there’s an end, even if it’s not in sight I know it’s coming. My supervisor commented that I not only handled it well, but that I had a calming effect on the rest of the crew (type-A supervisor included).
Etta, my wife, has had a bit of a stressful time with work lately, tool. She really doesn’t handle stress well at all. She talks to me and I try to offer, if nothing else, a sympathetic ear. In the end, I think it’s good for her to talk about it even if she doesn’t get any solid answers. The talking helps.
What it comes down to for me is this: I just don’t want to stress out about stuff. That doesn’t mean that I don’t. I do. A lot. I mean, a fuck of a lot. It’s just that, while I’m stressing out and getting upset, the situation is not only not improving, it’s getting worse. So I try to not freak out about the little things and to freak out only slightly at the bigger things. It doesn’t always work.
There are times when I get really worked up about a thing and throw myself into whatever I’m doing with a fury. And that usually results in me making mistakes and getting upset that I’m making mistakes and then trying to just block everything out and focus on doing. the. damned. job. and hoping that I can just get through without screaming at someone or putting my foot up their ass.
And then I realize what I’m doing and I try to pull out of the Super Sulk that I’m in. I’m usually successful. Hell, apparently I’m successful enough that people think I’m one chill dude. But it’s not some natural ability, you know.
It takes practice.
Fortunately, life gives me plenty of practice time.