This evening is shaping up to be a tough one. Work was hard. I got sworn at before I even started on the clock--some guy sitting in the doorway, wouldn't let me enter the building, colourfully told me what I could do to myself. (I politely declined.) Another guy, later, when I asked him to wait in line for a moment, shouted, "What are you some kind of schizophrenic!" I work in a rough part of town, and every day I deal with lots of people who are facing poverty, addictions, and mental health problems. I like my job, but even at the best of times, it's exhausting. There are plenty of fantastic people, but often I get yelled at and sworn at, and really, no one likes that sort of thing. Some days I cope with it better than others. Today I am not at my shining best. I had a little cry as soon as I got home, not too long ago. Right now I am just plain feeling sorry for myself. Yes, I am thinking that an evening drinking wine is the only thing that would make me feel better, at least for the evening. No, I'm not going to do that, much as I feel like I want to. I know it will pass. And I've had it mostly easy for a while--this is my first really bad "feels like a truck hit me" urge to drink. I'll tough it out. I knew it would happen, sooner or later. But holy, it's hell in the moment.