Oy

So, if anyone knows anything at all about me then you know that I tend to keep all of my stress in my belly. And when I am upset or nervous or excited or anxious, well, you can almost certainly find me holed up in my bathroom. I know, gross. But unfortunately, that's who I am.
And today. Well, I am nervous. I start my new job tomorrow and I am freaking out more than I probably should be. Michael says I'm being irrational, but I don't think I am.
See, I've had my heart broken more than once by previous employers and I have let myself down numerous times when it comes to my career. And I feel that I have reached that point in my life where it's, well, excuse the expression, but "shit or get off the pot." I know, gross.
And I'm tired of just floating around and playing at work and not really ever accomplishing anything. I want to be successful at something for once in my life. I mean, geez, if my ovaries can't work then at least I can work, right?
And then there's Michael. I want so badly for him to be proud of me. I know, that's so ancient and anti-woman, but his approval is so important to me. And I know that he loves me and he says that he's proud of me no matter what and blah blah blah... it's just, well, he has such high standards for himself and for his own career that I can't see how he couldn't possibly hold me to those standards as well. And, so far, I haven't even come close to meeting those. And that makes me feel like crap. (geez there are a lot of poo references in this. Sorry.)
So, here I sit, don't worry, the laptop is not in the bathroom, brooding over my new job tomorrow hoping that the back pew in church this morning will be empty so that I can have a fast escape for when my tummy starts rumbling during the amens.