Isn't it amazing how a few small misunderstandings, a handful of bad behavior, and a smattering of passive-aggressive can turn work from a reasonably survivable experience into a head-banging jaw-clenching ear-bleeding nightmare in a matter of days?
Two weeks ago, I liked my job. I really enjoy the actual work - I'm a mostly-psychologist and do crisis assessments in the local emergency rooms - and I can put up with the paperwork and politics that come alongside it all. Two days ago, I hated it, dreaded the mere thought of going in, and alternated between obsessing and whining only because I didn't want to be a total one-trick pony.
And now, tonight, I'm wrung out and brainlessly emotionally tired, but ready to go back and deal with the work itself again, now that the latest round of mind-numbingly immature drama has faded. I won't assault you with details. Just, it was knotty and yucky, and I had to take the horrifying and unenviable step of being the adult and addressing the situation before it escalated. And guess what? Being a grown-up works sometimes, and a resolution to the idiocy is in sight. Or, at the very least, it will be taken underground and hidden from me. This would be equally acceptable; I don't demand actual maturity among my coworkers, just the surface appearance.
Don't ever let anyone tell you that those who work in the mental health field are one tiny bit more mentally healthy than your average serial killer.