It's overwhelming sometimes.

When you're asked to put something together for a decision making process that really gives you hope. You work very hard and put in extra hours and think about ways to improve it in the shower and in your sleep. And then you come to learn that your work was never used. And it hurts your feelings, and it makes you take a step back and wonder why you care. But it really does matter to you.

And then you learn that your friend's stepfather just shot himself on his first day of hospice care with his mother in the next room. And you feel even more ashamed for worrying about things that don't matter in a grand scheme.

Your home life is wonderful and you know this. You have the means to stop on your way home to buy little presents for your dog and your Zach. And even if you didn't, they would still know how much you love them.

And you brood and live out your existential crisis the entire drive, white knuckled and squinting at the snow, until your tiny niece calls to tell you that she's looking at a picture in a frame of you and your brother in halloween costumes when you were small. And you tell her you're glad to hear from her although it makes you feel like crying.

And as you walk up the steps of your apartment you think of breaking into the bottle of wine in the kitchen, even though you know you'll be drinking alone. But you realize that each decision like this puts you one step closer to your alcoholic grandparents... and you think twice about even bringing it up because you know that your mother will read and you worry that you'll break her heart.

But you can't shake the feeling you got when you read the last email of the day, telling you that you're being relocated to a smaller cubicle. The standard joke doesn't soften the blow this time. And you feel utterly ashamed for caring.