Guys. It is midnight. And I have spent the past hour making lists and planning every possible thing in my life from here until Christmas. I made a list of all the stuff I need to print, and one of all the stuff I have to do tomorrow specifically, and a list of all the reading I have to do, and The Final List (finals week desperation-style), and posted them on my computer, two different spots on my walls, and in my folder. A copy is going in my planner, too.
Aka. It is late and I am stressed and OCD has stopped making house calls and set up residence until further notice. Here we are, fresh on dead week. This is the semi-annual week marked by obsessive bed-making, sticky notes, frantic folder clean out sessions, freakish efforts to tear out every leftover strip of paper from all the torn out pages in every one of my notebooks.
At this moment, I am fighting for deep breaths. Which is all the more painful because of my lung debilitating hacking cough. The whole day has been a struggle between feelings of suffocation and pain, which is now involved in basic bodily functions like breathing. I have been going to my happy place. Literally as well as figuratively, I suppose. I did have Lit History class today.*
This state of things is, alas, further evidence ( as if my high school schedule wasn't enough) that I am a masochistic human being. Aka, this sounds like a bad day to most people, but really it was a good one. Why is that? Desperate late night organization and homework and resume writing and list making somehow makes me feel quite accomplished. I don't know if that is healthy.
Therapy? I think so.
* For reals. Lit History class is my happy place.