The reason why I keep on going on at this rate is because I believe I can accomplish everything.

EVERYTHING.

If I try really really REEEALLLY hard. Take for example, my schedule this semester. I'm graduating, at nine kick-ass units, with two subjects that might as well not count. I have a Marine Science class which is all about us building relationships and a Biology class that is all about poison.

I crammed a thesis proposal this weekend, for 36 hours straight (sort of. nevertheless it took me three days to do something I should have done in a sem), with an ailing urethra and an overly dramatic fanboy soon-to-be-boyfriend. It was because of a cumulative series of crappy research training and wrong turns. Enough said.


I have two (plus one secret one) orgs that I attend to, all of which involve a countless amount of transcription, letter writing, addressing, sealing, delivering, follow-upping, media liasoning (say it with me. In french. Media LI-AY-SAUGH.), building relationships (oh, Prof. Marine Science will be SO PROUD) and various other tasks that require 2.4 hours of my time in blocks. Then meetings in the afternoons-to-evenings and a crappy-ass commute home.

Oh. And there's the fanboy to attend to and constantly assure. It is by far the most objective, honest, brutal relationship I have ever been involved in. He thinks of feelings in pie charts and the development of feelings as ladderized promotions. (Do you love me na? How bout now? Now? When's my next promotion? What tasks must I accomplish?) It's quite endearing I assure you.

In a society beset by problems, and with various societal issues requiring your attention and the attention of others, I suppose this is what it should feel like to be involved. In the grandest sense of the term.

And so we soldier on, going about it as meaningfully as we can without being lost in the motions. (Repeat after me: WE ARE NOT MACHINES!!!!!)

Then when I am curled up into a tight little ball at night, staring at the ceiling, trying to slow down my pulse rate and checking my vital signs, being so tired all the time and wound up that I can't ever relax my shoulders anymore, I think, is this how it's going to be for the rest of my life?


. . . Yeah. It will be.

So there's everything to accomplish on my perpetually growing task list, and I am left with four words my brother says to me every day when he gets to see me under the mound of paperwork.

YOU ARE STRESS PERSONIFIED.