Where's Stuart Smalley when you need him?

I'm up to my eyeballs in deadlines about stupid global real estate stuff and Texas construction stuff.

Then, I get a call from an editor. I don't know if he's having a bad day or if I just suck. But, I'm close to tears right now and the stress has embedded in my right shoulder (which was sore from trying to pitch to my son and his friend on Saturday during some batting practice). Anyway. The editor called and chewed my ass about how he doesn't understand what I'm trying to say in my story, how I can't turn in work like this, I'm pushing his timetables, excuses won't work right now, if I get stuck I need to call him, etc. etc. It went on and on and then the condescending nature of his voice made me feel like a 4-year-old who peed in the floor instead of going to use the restroom like a good little girl would do. Seriously.

I'm at my wit's end. I put in a shitload of effort into this story and I take pride in turning in good work. I'm looking at it and thinking, what is missing? But, regardless, I'm trying to do more for it and feeling like a steaming pile of dogdoo in the meantime.

I need some thicker skin.