Today I woke up and had no clue what day it was. Heavy with allergies, I peeled open my eyes and turned to face the hint of sun peeking from behind my window shades, anxious to fill my room and remind me of the mess of clothes and papers and tissues amassed around me. Who am I and what have I become?
Apparently, the final weeks of my first year at grad school blindsided me. I walked around pretending to be a functioning human being—I mean, I took an exam, wrote three papers, and gave a presentation on some pretty complicated statistical analysis in a run of six straight days. I even recall having a stress-cooling cocktail at one point, easing my mind from the burden of expectations that stem from my own silly quest for perfection. But when did the weeks blur together? When did my subconscious stop dreaming up manifestations of my school stress and instead take direction from Tarantino?--Seriously, I had five straight nights of dreams where the body count rivaled both parts of Kill Bill. Fortunately, none of the “victims” were real life people. At least, not from my life.
The things is, I thought my mind would eventually break down and reach an impasse-- refusing to type, read, calculate, graph, and analyze anything else ever again. I just thought that would happen when I was filling out my AARP membership. Renewal. Ah well.