my face hurts.

I cry a lot.

Mostly in the privacy of my home, but sometimes at work in the bathroom, or in my car, or walking from place to place.

The other day, when I walked into Starbucks to drop off the Toys for Tots presents, the woman behind the counter asked me if I needed anything.

I thanked her, shook my head, and said that I was really just there to drop off some toys, and the other woman behind the counter said, "Wow, that's really nice."

I said, "I guess so." and then wished them both a Merry Christmas, before walking out the door and onto the street.

And then I cried for a couple of blocks, because no one should have to thank me for trying to be a good person.

I don't know if I cry because I'm broken, or if it's because my life is so excruciating most of the time.

I like my job, but I hate where I work most of the time. The people there depress me and make me frustrated for stupid reasons. Kimmy's quitting as soon as the holidays are over, and the acting GM has said more than once that if they don't give her the store after she's successfully operated it for two holiday seasons, she's going to walk as soon as the holidays are over. The bitterness wears me down. I'm an empathizer. If I am exposed to crap like that for a prolonged period of time, I get upset myself. And if the office door is shut and more than one manager is in there, the conversation always turns to how much being a manager there sucks.

I mortally offended Diva by telling her client that sometimes she ran late when she was coming in early to do people before her scheduled shift, and that she'd be there soon. The client showed up 25 minutes early, and then looked at her watch and dramatically sighed every five minutes. I reminded the client that Diva was coming in 3.5 hours early to do her hair, and told her that that Diva ran on her own time table when she was working on her own schedule, which I called "DivaTime," but would definitely be arriving very very soon (she was exactly five minutes late). The acting GM was in the salon when I said this, and said that the traffic was especially bad that morning, but assured the client that Diva would arrive shortly.

When the client complained to Diva that she'd had to wait for 30 minutes, Diva got in her face and told her, "Well, I'm sorry about the five minutes, but the 25 minutes early is totally on you. You didn't have to come in a half hour before your appointment, especially when I told you that I was coming in before my scheduled shift to do you hair."

Which I'm sure further irritated the client. Who then told Diva that the acting GM and I had been gossiping about her, saying she's always late for work, and whatnot, which is entirely not what was said. It's true, but neither of us said it to the client. She pulled that out of her own ass.

Speaking to the acting GM about this afterwards, Diva told her that she was really offended that I had spoken negatively about her to a client, which the acting GM assured her that I really had not done, and then she brought up the whole drag queen thing again, and said that her husband wanted her to quit if being in such a hostile work environment was upsetting her.

That's right. I create a hostile work environment. Which no one else seems to have noticed.

But it definitely creates a tension that wears on me.

I spend all of my energy being sincere and friendly and concerned at work, and then have nothing left at the end of the day.

My clients all love me because I'm sunshine and rainbows with them. And I mean it. I like working with them. For the hour or two that I spend with someone, I am entirely engrossed in that person's world, and we're the practically the best of friends.

The staff and clients seem to generally appreciate that I brought in my coffee pot and electric tea kettle and oodles of tea and coffee grinder and whole bean coffee and cookies and candies and cheddar snack mix (for people that don't like sweets). If I bring sweets, I always make sure to have sugar-free stuff because Diva's on the South Beach Diet, and Pappy technically shouldn't eat sweets.

I do these things because I want to make our salon as pleasant an environment as possible. (Plus, I don't drink coffee and we're almost all now tea drinkers.) I don't do it to kiss ass or make peace or buy affection. I do it because I want to do it.

Technically, all I'm required to do is manage the people and the paperwork. Anything above and beyond that is strictly optional.

I don't have to take all of the notes I've compiled from all of the color classes and then spend hours of my free time putting together a 17-page packet of information for everyone to use. Which they do.

I'm so worn out and tired from living my life that I have no energy for me. I blow my entire emotional wad each day at work, and then come home and cry at Ghost Whisperer.

I don't get enough sleep, and when I get all run down, my stomach starts bothering me. I either spend at least one day a week heaving up my guts in the salon restroom, or else I feel like my insides have been put through a blender.

I like where I live, but I hate the contents of my apartment. I have no room to store anything, so I have stacks of everything everywhere. It's cluttered. My apartment is never neat and clean. Sometimes it's almost tidy, but generally not so.

I joke that I live the lifestyle of a 23 year old guy fresh out of college. I'm socially maladjusted, I eat crap for food, I spend my free time playing video games, reading comics, and zoning out, and my apartment is a pigsty. The only thing missing is beer.

50 First Dates kills me every single time it's on, but I can't stop watching it. I spend most of the movie crying because Henry works so hard to make Lucy love him that it breaks my heart. And because there is so much love in that movie that it makes me I know that at this rate, I'll never be loved that much by anyone. And then when it's over, I cry because I feel so pathetic for getting that worked up over an Adam Sandler movie.

I cried when I read the impersonal Christmas card I got in the mail from my Uncle Craig and my Aunt Roxie, partly because I had no emotional investment in anything they were sharing in their yearly update letter, and partly because I suppose that I should be happy that Jennifer is happily being successful in Scottsdale, and that Michelle just got engaged to a great guy named Jeff. I cried because I don't even really know these people, even though they're my flesh and blood. I know and care about most of my relatives that I've grown up with, but my mother's other brother and his brood are just names on a piece of paper. Before this letter, the only other piece of knowledge I had about Jennifer and Michelle is that they didn't like to visit Grandma when she was alive because she'd pick at them about their physical appearance. Something about thick ankles and a fat aunt, or something.

Substantial segments of my family are just anecdotes to me.

I cry because I look forward to seeing other members of my family, and am robbed of the experience because of a lack of opportunity. The potential is there, but the timing is off.

I cry because I get so emotionally wrapped up in picking presents and wrapping them up all pretty, and then get to watch when people just tear them open and say, "Oh, that's nice. Can I have another present to open?" as they set mine to the side and move on to the rest of the pile.

I know I romanticize the holidays. A trip home to see the family, holiday cheer, a Christmas tree with twinkling lights, festive meals, glad tidings, seasons greetings and all.

Which really translates into about a half-day of activity and what generally devolves into disappointment and boredom.

I cry because the cat peed on my one of fur-lined leather gloves, and I had to wait over a week to find the time to take them to the cleaners. And I had to wear the other gloves that aren't as warm. And when I went to pick them up from the cleaners, I was informed that they didn't do leather and I was to receive a refund for my trouble.

I didn't actually cry just because the perfect coat in retrospect needs a considerable amount of alteration to make it right, but I did cry because it's so hard to find the time and the supplies to accomplish this.

And I cry when I blog, because it's hard to share this much sometimes.