I have two general moods: giggly and laugh-out-loud...y.
It is because of this basic fact about me that its odd I again find myself with the predicament of posting another entry in which I have to use some variation of the phrase: And then I began to cry.
But here we are.
Ok, so everyone knows people freak me out. Not in the way that clowns or other heavily-made-up,-past-the-point-of-recognition people do. Rather in a holy-crap-I-can't-breathe,-getmeoutofhere,-get-me-out-of-here,-GET-ME-OUT-OF-HERE! way
I was sitting at my station in the salon, studying amino acids and disulfide bonds for my test next week when suddenly I was handed a client form and told that she (the client) was waiting for me. What? Where did she come from? Why did I have no clients on my books .02 seconds ago and suddenly I'm running behind? Grrr.
I quickly ran (past my client) up to the reception desk to ask about it. A wet set. Crap. (A wet set is what old ladies get once a week. Rollers, clips, under the dryer. That whole bit.) I have not had my rollers with me since I left Juniors (over a year ago) Uhhh. Claudia was helping at the reception desk and she told me that the client was indeed on my books (not last time I checked, but whatev.) and that I needed to hurry because she's been waiting. Ah, crap.
I brought the client to my station and set her all up and then told her I had to grab a few things and I'd be right back. Then I quickly walked back to the front counter...
Then I began to cry.
I couldn't breathe. My heart was going to explode. My mind could not hold onto a single thought. And there was no way I could hold my hands still.
I'm pretty sure someone was jumping on my lungs.
Claudia looked up and very sweetly asked, "Hun, are you crying?" Oh heavens. I tried to wave away her worries, "I'm fine. I'll *be* fine. I'm just... *exasperated sigh* ...I'll be fine." She asked what was the matter and I finally squeaked out, "Anxiety attack. It'll end...I just have to... it just has to end."
She asked, "Is it because you don't have your rollers? Honey, you can just ask someone for theirs!" ...Ha!
Wiping away tears I mumbled, "No...anxiety disorder...it has to...it has to end."
Megan (the receptionist) asked, "Social Anxiety Disorder?" I nodded, dabbing at the tears as they ran toward my chin. Amy (the manager) handed me a magazine with instructions to fan myself, and said, "Take your time. When you catch a breath let me know if I can help you with anything."
(Why did I have such reservations about switching to day classes? Sheesh.)
It passed. I borrowed rollers. It went fine. She is under the dryer.
I look like a hot mess with my freakish mascara that won't come off my face. Oh well.