de-stress, re-address

I’m frreee to do what I want, any old time... except right now, coz I have 1001 other things to do, and this is how that song, really should have gone..

I need to chill out for a second or I’m going to implode. I feel cramped, blocked, deaf, confused, bewildered, like a rabbit in the headlights or a guinea pig high on pot. I feel like if I was asked which was up and which was down, I’d say, “Martha ofcourse.” The little Brain Function Operator inside my head has sat down on his little stool and buried his head in his overworked hands. He’s down to the bone, empty, alone, over it, in need of a really good cheeseburger. And maybe some fries.

Whilst on the train between young female passenger A reading Twilight and young female passenger B reading Twilight, I found myself fretting once again about the state of that essay I handed in 2 days ago that was worth 45% and will probably earn me about half of that, if not less. It was more or less utter shite, it annoys me because I feel I let myself down and it wasn’t through lack of trying. It’s such a great weight in my head that I have trouble lifting my arms to do anything other than support my throbbing head.

It was full steam ahead into total meltdown, and my poor little Brain Function Operator let go of the steering wheel, turned off the engine and called the trade union. No one should have to work 24-7.

It’s completely ridiculous how caught up I get about an essay, which doesn’t even register on the radar in the scheme of things. Yesterday, it turned me into a giant ball of stress. In a few weeks when I get it back, I’ll be angry at myself, and maybe even my lecturer because it couldn’t possibly be my fault. When I get my grade at the end of the semester, I may sigh and mourn that I didn’t try harder. In four months time, chances are I won’t even remember it at all.

Neither God nor the moon cares how much of a total cock up that essay was, so how did I come to put so much importance on something that has next to no bearing on my life at all? That essay doesn’t feed me, clothe me or shelter me. It doesn’t keep me sane, in fact it does very much the opposite, and it never tried to make me happy. Writing it was like pulling teeth, tearing hair out strand by strand, physically abusing my Brain Function Operator until he couldn’t take it anymore. I got so pissed off that I couldn’t think clearly, and the sole reason for that was because I was stressing about 10 pieces of paper and some sad, contrived words.

It was time to repair the engine.

Step 1: Consume chocolate.

I don’t know what people did in the days before this fine, sugary goodness became available to the masses in such great quantities as it is today. I think we should force feed chocolate to angry people until they smile. I think we should pay the people who produce it more than we pay the companies who sell it too, but for today, I’m just thankful for its existence.

Step 2: Hit the Beach.

In the scheme of the great blue vast ocean, I am nothing. I stand on the windy beach, waste deep in the waves and let its power slap against me. The wind chills me to the core and the water offers an icy warm retreat on this fine autumn day. The salt seeps into the very core of me, stinging, healing. I spread my arms wide above my head and let the waves pull me wherever they should like. If they ate me up today all that would be left of me was a scooter standing in the carpark, 10 pages of crappy essay and this blog. I wouldn’t be sad.

Step 3: Lie in the sun.

I remember now what’s important. Breathing. It kind of takes precedence over everything else. Smiling, laughing, learning, loving, being... writing good essays doesn’t feature.

The rush of air into my brain wakes my Brain Function Operator. “Finnnallly!” he says, as he flicks the switch. It’s all systems go again.

With a hop, skip and a jump I dance my way down the beach, because it’s important and that essay was not.