Vitriol.

Tonight at work someone ripped into me for no reason and made me cry.

I've been feeling like crap for days. My throat is raw, my eyes sting and my nose is either blocked or running. But I've still been at work every night, I've still been at college every day. I'm proud of myself for not sleeping through one or the other.

Tonight started out as a good night, I'd sat in the office and got a lot of college work done, the main band were good, a few of my friends were there, I was feeling good because I was helping a photographer get pictures for his portfolio. The band finished and I was getting ready to pack up, feeling pretty happy in myself.

And then when I was putting some equipment away some dick from one of the bands (I suspect it was a tour manager) starting shouting at me and calling me all kinds of things for no reason. I didn't even know what he was talking about. He was pissed up and being vulgar.

And just like that all my good feeling about the night went. I gave him a level look and carried on packing stuff away, then I went to find someone to talk to, because I was reeling.

At first I tried being indignant. I stood on the stage with the sound engineer and some others and raved about it and tried to project all my hurt into one long rant to let it all out so I could feel happy again. I was starting to feel worse for wear again, my head was hurting, I kept sniffing, my throat stung. I was angry but my feelings were hurt, and unfortunately I'm the kind of person who takes everything to heart.

And then I tried to distract myself. My hearing tends to go a bit after a night at work because the ear plugs I have aren't good enough to stop them ringing. I walked out of the venue, put my headphones in and tried playing happy songs to cheer myself up, but my eyes felt hot and I was breathing to quick.

It's humiliating enough to have to walk home crying, but when you live in the middle of town that's even worse.

I got home, locked the door and let out a huge sob. How dare he? What right did he have? I don't care if he's David Bowie or the postman, where does he get off talking to anyone like that? I was doing so well, I'd really tried today.

And I need a shoulder to cry on, and I'm home alone, and it's too late to call anyone, and I don't know who I'd call.

It's not fair. It's not fair.