These are the times that try men's souls

Pray for me tomorrow, ya'll.

(Despite trying so hard for my 4 college years in the South never to say "ya'll", I really wish now that I said it naturally. But since most of you don't know me personally and therefore don't know that I don't actually say ya'll in real life, I can write it and not feel like a total fraud.)

But, seriously, tomorrow's going to be rough, because we are having an open house at work. I used to really like these open houses - back when I was the lowly admin assistant, and we had an extremely creative and efficient event planner to do all the hard parts. But, now that I have been promoted (?) to event planner myself, they aren't so much fun any more. Yeah, we still get great food (including, but not limited to: Graham Cracker Treats, Hershey's Chocolate Treasures, raspberries and strawberries, pumpkin spice muffins, cinnamon rolls, and Sun Chips), but that's because it doesn't require creativity or efficiency to buy food. Only an appetite, which, I assure you, I have in abundance.

While I don't want to go into any specifics, suffice it to say that inter-personal relations aren't always at their peak during these events, either. My patience, regrettably, grows thinner under pressure, and is directly related to my concern for tact. I have been known to be a little snippy.

I don't like this about myself, any more than I like having to tell people what to do during these events. But, the latter is a reality. The former doesn't have to be, but that's why I need you to pray for me. Already today, I felt the old, familiar irritation rearing its ugly head, and without God's help, I will be stressed, snippy, and downright witchy with a b all day tomorrow, and I will come away from the event exhausted and with a headache (and a stomach ache from all the stress-eating I did during the day). Plus, I really do like my co-workers, and I'd rather get along with them than offend them.

Oh, and I don't even have any shoes to wear tomorrow. That is not starting the day off well. (By any, of course, I mean that none of my 60+ pairs quite work with my suit, except the one pair that needs to walk its way over to a cobbler, stat.)