'i don't know' is a waste of life

obviously i had not been 'letting it out', emotionally. tense from a long and painful conversation the night before, feeling horribly sad and guilty, fretting about moving and weird 'symptoms' and the fear that i am on the precipice of making yet another life-changing and potentially catastrophic decision... i was back tech at work, the one responsible for the hospitalized goings-on, and an IVDD bulldog was admitted with a slew of treatment orders. i spent a good 15 minutes trying to place a catheter in one of the veins not already fucked up by the referring DVM; the doctor kept coming over and making condescending comments; the assistant was being far mopre patient than he needed to be; i was growing more and more frustrated and abruptly, to my complete mortification, i began to cry. "i need to go" i remember mumbling to the assistant. "i'm sorry." i locked the door to the bathroom and sobbed into a paper towel. it was stupid then and it is stupid now, but i have to say, i felt much calmer afterwards. everyone at work that noticed my little breakdown was very nice and understanding. i feel immense gratitude that i work among pretty cool people- people that i have also seen behave neurotically and get stressed out and act obnoxiously on occasion- all traits that make me like them much more.
i was exhausted by the time my 12 hr shift ended. driving home feeling residually morose. stopped at the store and noticed my strabismus acting up behind my glasses, making me feel that i was walking at a tilt, a creepy after-hours drug addict despite my ER scrubs. in the nearly deserted parking lot (past 2 am at this point) a woman in the car next to mine said she liked my bumper sticker ("we are creating enemies faster than we can kill them"). we ended up standing in the parking lot of the QFC talking for about forty minutes... about everything. family, spirituality, northern california in the '70's, grocery shopping when you're hungry, the weird and wonderful coincidences of life. she was 58 years old with a very melodic voice. the cynic in me kept trying to detect a glimmer of insanity in her mannerisms -for i am the only sane person that lurks around the grocery store at 2 am, correct- but couldn't. she was like a fucking angel saying everything i needed at that moment to hear; all i needed, i suppose, was another warm and cognizant human being to remind me that we're all going through life, and that it's going to be okay. i drove home feeling like i was either going to start crying again or accidentally bash my car into a wall.
twelve hours later, hot and sunny outside, in the cool confines of the libbrary with my apartment slowly beginning to unravel many blocks away, it is one of those instances (these usually last only a few minutes, but sometimes much longer) when, if asked what would be the one thing that would make me the most happy, i would have no idea what to say.