Fear

One of the most important lessons I've had to learn is that thinking and worrying about something too much is actually scarier than doing it. Sometimes you just have to decide to not think about it all and dive right in.

The first time I put this into practice was when I donated blood in high school. I had heard the horror stories of students fainting and I'd seen the bruises on people's arms. But I knew that I wanted to be a hero more than I was afraid of the needle. I had to consciously decide not to be afraid. And it worked! It hurt a bit when they punctured my arm, but not as much as it would have if I'd been scared out of my mind. I was so proud of myself and went on to donate as much as possible for the next few years. I've had to stop recently because of high platelets, but my doctor said I can restart in October!

I wish I could have a conversation with myself in the past, that I could tell myself not to quit things because they seem hard. Then again, if I hadn't quit before, I wouldn't be where I am now, and I'm so happy where I am. I was just thinking about how hard Sundays are on my paper route, but then I realized that when I take things one step at a time, it's really not that bad. Thinking about the whole (the whole Sunday, the whole week, the whole year, my whole life) makes peace of mind impossible. But little chunks are doable.

I guess none of this would make sense to anyone else, but I need to have it here to remind myself.

First Day of School

I woke up today at 4:05 pm. Class started at 5, so I knew I had to hustle. I got all dressed up, only to realize that I had not a single pair of cute shoes to match my outfit. My options were a) a two-sizes-too-large pair of men's flip flops, b) my ugly black work shoes, or c) brown ballet flats that give me terrible blisters. I was wearing black and white, but I couldn't stand to wear huge flip flops on the first day of school, so I chose the ballet flats. Bad decision.

Almost as soon as I put them on, my feet started to hurt. I thought I could tough it out, though, and rushed out of the house. I had to get my parking decal from the security office before class started, and that went pretty smoothly, despite having a security officer tell me she would love to make me cry by giving me a $60 ticket if I parked in the wrong spot. It was exactly 5:00 by the time I was putting the decal on my car.

Now, I had looked up my classes on the map online a few days ago, but that didn't help much. I drove around aimlessly, trying to see the tiny letters they have on the corners of buildings. I finally decided to just park and walk around, figuring I'd be able to see the minuscule letters if I was two inches away from them. Half-running in ballet flats made of what feels like razor blades is not the most comfortable thing in the world. Eventually I wandered just the right amount and ended up at the BA building, where I needed to be. A kindly old man pointed out the right classroom to me.

I arrived at 5:12, a sweaty, disheveled mess, with my shoes half on and a panicked look on my face. The room was full, the teacher was mid-lecture. I tried to slip silently into the back row, but being quiet is something I've never excelled at. I clanked and tapped and tripped my way into a chair, heaving a sigh of relief.

Then my phone rang.

I was reminded of that show about meerkats as every eye in the room turned to look at me. I smiled sheepishly and pulled out my phone. My mom had texted me to wish me luck. Frantically, I jammed the volume control until it reached Silent mode and shoved the phone back in my purse.

At this point, I achieved a few precious minutes of peace, looking over the syllabus and mentally calculating how much money I would have to spend on textbooks and other supplies. Somewhere, Murphy and his law detected that there was an opening available for some new sort of torture, and my nose turned on like a faucet.

I don't know what's wrong with me. I seem to be allergic to random rooms or learning or something. I felt a sneeze coming on and knew instantly what the rest of the hour would look like for me. There was nothing I could do but ride it out. The sneezing came first, and then the watery eyes and red nose. I raised one shaky, timid hand and asked where the nearest bathroom was.

I had taken my shoes off, and in my panic I put them back on on the wrong feet. Sigh. I had no choice but to hobble out of the classroom with the toes pointing in opposite directions, every step poking my numerous blisters.

I won't go in to too many details, but I had to leave twice more to blow my nose. It was easily one of the most humiliating hours of my life. The teacher was very nice, though, and when she gave us a diagnostic test (it was a math class) I finished first and got to leave a few minutes early. I walked to my car barefoot, shoes in hand, and you would have thought I was walking around naked based on the looks I was getting.

On the bright side, things can only go up from here!

Pep Talk

You are sick, not dead. In a day or two you'll wake up and be able to breathe again. Your muscles will work the way they're supposed to and things will come easily. It's unfortunate to have caught a virus while coming down from a manic phase, but hey, that's life. Just keep a box of tissues by your side and stick it out. Things will be better before you know it. Keep hoping.

Just Thoughts

I am full to the brim with possibilities. Tomorrow I'm going to study for the PERT math test with Suzana. On Monday, I'll take the test and prove my residency. Then I'll see an academic adviser, sign up for classes, and be a college student again. I'll join Curves. My schedule will be crazy and I'll love it. I'll have baby mice to love on, friends to hang out with, a book to write, work every day, homework to do... It all sounds like heaven to me.

People used to say, "Oh, you're so lucky, you just get to sit at home all day," but it was terrible. The human brain needs to do things or it starts to turn on you.