Stress

And so the week has begun and, along with it, the incredible stresses of an over-achieving undergraduate. I don't like to complain because I know there are people much worse-off than myself (my prayers go out to you starving children in third-world countries, blind people, old cat ladies, and the like), however, in my little bubble of a world, things are pretty rough. Three tests this week, a project due Thursday, homework for 18 credits worth of classes, practicing prayers to read at my sister's wedding, preparing a speech for my sister's wedding, my sister's wedding itself (this weekend), applying for study abroad, asking for recommendations for that study abroad, aaaaaand the weight of needing to raise $15,000 for the advertising group I'm part of.


So, now that I've vented to you and you can choose whether to feel bad for me or tell me to suck it up and one-up me with all of your stressful lives, I'm going to show you what keeps me sane during my days.

 

My daily carton of orange juice - simply because it it is delicious and I need delicious things. Next, my array of colored pens. I would not be alive without my colored pens. They are the very lifeblood of organization in my life and they serve as the best way to doodle because I can draw different hair and eye colors and stuff, as well as giving myself pen tattoos. Last, yet most importantly, is my little red notebook. This is my bible. With so much shit going on, it is only my little red notebook, named, hmm, what shall I name it? Florence, or something. Anyway, it is only this notebook that allows me to write down everything I have to do, making it my worst enemy, yet, my best friend because then I get to cross it all off: in pink pen. I don't know why pink. Don't judge.

I hope I'm not alone in this, but I get a sick satisfaction out of crossing things off. It's knowing that I've defeated the black scrawl of ink that was just one more thing assigned to me as a means of wasting my life.

My face when I cross things off:

 As you can see it might be mildly unhealthy.

I came to the library with the intention of putting a huge dent in my accumulated workload, thus reducing stress. Have I yet? No. There is a reason, however.

I chose to study in the quiet rooms this afternoon because I knew I couldn't have any distractions (save blogging, of course). However, there is always that one douchebag that answers his phone and has a full-blown conversation at normal volume with mom. Then there are personal distractions. As I set all of my things out and finally settled into reading my Biological Anthropology book, I felt a slight twinge.

Fuck.

I had previously gulped down a large iced coffee and now my body, knowing perfectly well that I was in a wonderfully peaceful study environment where I could actually be productive, decided to fuck with me:

Body: Ha! I've been saving it for when you can't move!

Me: I'll hold the piss in and give you a bladder infection.

Body: Come on, man. Your buddy body needs to have some fun, too.
Me: Well, it isn't fun for me, seeing as how I either piss myself or lose all of my things to library thieves. And, hey asshole, I didn't appreciate you bestowing a log-shit on me during class either.
Body: .....
Me: Yeah, go fuck yourself.

So, I did what I really don't like to do: Interrupted some Asian girl wearing giant headphones attached to an iPhone in a bunny-ear case to ask her to watch my things. She said sure, and immediately put her head back down to whatever she had been reading. You can play "I'm offended" all you want but you know as well as I do that if anyone ever asks you to watch his or her things, you say yes and then forget you have been given this task until he or she comes back and says thanks. That's the moment you look up and hope that all personal possessions are still there. 

If so, you smile and say no problem. If not, you say, I'm so sorry! He threatened me! And if you have some fake blood on you, now would be the time to strategically place it on your body to simulate a shank wound. The person will be more concerned about your imminent death than his missing Mac.

Now I'm face down, like this insecure Asian man who was at the library not too long ago:

  

And I'm out of orange juice.