post the seventy-fifth

I worry a lot about people not liking me.

Granted, it usually turns out to be my imagination. I worry a lot, and so I'm really good at creating signs that people don't like me in my mind, like people giving me nasty looks or not responding to comments that I think are funny. People tell me not to worry. I still do, of course, but it always turns out to be moot. I even worry that I've horribly offended old and trusted friends sometimes. Those generally turn out to be wrong, too, but it doesn't stop me from worrying, either.

This was different.

I was at work this last week, and as I'm still fairly new, I was assigned to work with someone. She was helpful on Friday, showing me around the place and telling me everything I had to do. I brought music with me on Monday, so she and I didn't speak much (i.e., at all). By Wednesday, it was apparent that she'd had enough. She seemed irritated with me most of the day. Having had this experience many times previously, I assumed that I was just imagining it and did my best to ignore it. However, it quickly became very clear that she meant business. I was standing around at one point, trying to figure out what I needed to do next, when she snapped at me, saying, "Figure it out! I'm not going to tell you every little thing you have to do!"

I hadn't asked her anything about what I needed to do, as I was pretty clear on that. I wasn't even aware that we were having a disagreement until just then. She continued to be in a pretty nasty mood toward me for the rest of the day. I have no idea what I did. She just snapped at me any time I spoke to her (which was, admittedly, not very much). I just stuck to my music and elected not to speak to anyone else.

She's been much more civil to me since then, but I'm still mystified as to what happened on Wednesday. I'm so used to just imagining that people don't like me that I had no idea what to do when someone actually was angry with me. I guess I'll just go ahead and retreat into my overactive imagination, taking comfort in the fact that people don't actually hate my guts. At least, I think they don't.

(sweats nervously)