A woman under stress is not immediately concerned
with finding solutions to her problems but rather seeks relief by
expressing herself and being understood. ~ John Gray
I am utterly, almost unbearably, almost irrevocably, mega stressed. You can't serve two masters, they say. I say it depends on the kind of masters you have. But let's not talk about 'masters.' I am not a slave. I am working for what I think will give me a proper purpose in this earthly sojourn. Yes, I admit, I wrought this upon myself. It's just difficult to back out now that I'm in too deep. Could you blame me for rolling in the deep? No, please don't. Blame Adele. :P
Stressed - that I am. Looking for a relief by expressing myself? Whatever John Gray. I can't argue because you're so right. I have been writing frequently since the day before the deadline. Meaning, I have been under a lot of stress. Oh, you have no idea what kind of stress this is. I am not concerned with finding a solution (oh crap, I'm just copying the quote), but on trying to declog myself of this heavy mental baggage. I don't want food. I don't want a shoulder to lean on. I'd prefer to lean on a tree trunk. What I want is a bunch of people to talk with. No, I don't want the sort to tell me: "It's okay, your stress is gonna go away." I know it will. I just want to talk. Period. And also, don't just talk about mundane stuff. My brain needs a massage after such brutal beating. Massage it with witty words, will you? Or if you can't do that, a little honest talk would do. I have received but few so far from beloved friends. They should buy me ice cream. Magnum, if you please. Need a cold shot to the hypothalamus.
I could stare at space for hours and hours and do nothing at all. Hours and hours for the past few days, I've been staring at the computer and mechanically writing, editing, compiling information, getting pictures, answering emails, rechecking the validity of the information and sometimes picking up the phone. I've just battered my brain to a degree that - God forbid- may impair it for the rest of my life. Opening several tabs on the browser is a dizzying endeavor. And there are other stressors as well but I need not mention them.
The point is that I'm stressed. I know this is circulo in probando already but I have license to be fallacious. Stress is my witness and evidence. I feel like my brain is panting and gasping for breath. I can feel it growing big and growing small inside my head. It's getting numb. Thank you to those who offered some advice. My gratitude for the care. However, I shun all pieces of advice that involve Stress Tabs or melatonin pills. Sorry. I'm a sadomasochist. I'd rather curl in agony than take artificial forms of medication. Anything that connotes 'running away' from the pain does not earn my respect or patronage. My idea of pleasure and happiness is far from hedonistic. Should I blame the nuns of STC for making me a pseudo-martyr? Nope. Blame my fear of wearing a bikini, smoking like a pro and making a harem out of cute, rich guys (pun-intended).
I have exhausted my brain now with this senseless tirade. This is my own brand of self-therapy. During times like this, I have no one else to fall back on but me and my daydreams. Let me go back to the one I truly love and need: SLEEP.
