Rejection of the Day

I came to work today in a slightly fragile state- a five-hour-long stitching session last night (at Shakespeare and Company, where I am currently temping) immediately following a full day of work at my day job, no dinner, and a pounding headache. My fingertips are all ripped up from stitching together sofa cushions and I did not even have the pride of having created something because I did not finish the project. I stayed until 11 pm, at which point I looked at the clock and realized I had to get up for work the following morning in 7 hours, and I left. I slept badly, because after dealing with the headache for what has now been five days, on and off, I resorted to taking an Excedrin and it woke me up intermittently throughout the night.
I made it to work on time and mostly put together, which changed when I was halfway in from the parking lot (the walk from the parking lot at my place of work is a trek) and the strap on my cheap Old Navy flip-flop decided it had enough of me and broke. Mid-sentence with my friend Matt, I slipped both shoes off and carried them in my hand, then threw them out once I got to my desk and put on my work shoes.
Everything was going fine for a little while- I checked guests in for their appointments (I work in a health resort, minding the desk of the wellness department), went off to pick up the mail delivery, looked for some old medical charts, and then when 12 rolled around, I was hoping to go to a fitness class during my lunch break. There is a new class they just started offering that combines ballet, pilates, and strength training. I have taken it twice already and I am hooked. When I showed up, however, something seemed off. Ever since Black Swan, every white girl I know is obsessed with getting Natalie Portman's near-death, barely-held-together body. This class, of course, has been packed the two other times they have offered it. I took my weights and found what I thought would be an okay spot, out of the way, not even on one of the ballet barres (which were crowded), but on a towel rack, far away from any guests who I might have inconvenienced.
I had just placed my hand on the barre (towel bar, mind you) when the assistant instructor came up to me looking so guilty and whispered, "This class really should have a limit of fifteen. I don't think we can even allow employees to take it if it's going to be this popular."
I let go of the bar. "Okay, do you want me to sneak out?"
"Yeah, if you don't mind. I'm sorry," she said.
I slunk away, close to the wall, thankfully remembering to grab my water bottle on my way out. Walking away through the employee tunnel that runs beneath the guest areas (think Disney World with no costumes) I felt tears threatening to bubble up and give me away. I knew that if I started crying, it would all be over and I would not stop crying for at least twenty minutes. I reserve tears over time, and if something tips me over, I can't hold back the flood. I hadn't cried over my marriage for weeks, and if I started crying about this insignificant embarrassment, I would humiliate myself at work, which I am terrified of doing. I held it together, incredibly, and ate my lunch miserably while other employees noisily talked to each other around me.
I should have looked at the number of women who turned up for the class and excused myself before I was asked to, but I didn't. I had changed my clothes and committed to doing it because getting in shape is my one of my only obligations now, and I have transferred all of the energy I used to expend on making Gino happy into making myself feel better. It's not a noble goal, but it's the only one I have right now. I had hoped that just this once, they would overlook the fact that the class was over capacity and just let me stay. Playing devil's advocate with myself, I wondered if they would have asked another employee, one they were more friendly with, to leave, but dismissed that because I am trying not to allow myself to become a victim in my mind. I am trying as hard as I can to not take a victim's stance, become bitter, listen to too much Adele or Carole King, gain too much weight or lose to much weight, drink too much, or watch too many episodes of Snapped. I am trying so hard to "do" this divorce right that I might not be dealing with it at all. Maybe instead of trying so hard, I should just let myself go on a few fronts because I know that the worst that can happen is that people will have a different opinion of me, and I have no idea what their current opinion even is.
I had a really shitty day. I know this is not even close to my last shitty day, nor is it probably the shittiest day I will have. I have a lot of shitty days ahead of me, but at least this one is mostly behind me.