Panic Sunday

It's the ending of an extremely stressful week and the eve of another. Summer Sessions begins tomorrow at UC Santa Barbara and it has me shaking in my gogo boots. For the past two weeks, it became a regular occurrence for me to have lunch at 5pm. And I wouldn't arrive home until 7 or 7:30 at night. We'd end up having dinner at 10pm. And I've been a maniacal bitch. All I keep saying is "I want to move, I want to move, I want to move", until Will finally has to maniacal bitch slap me. I think it's the whole fight or flight response and basically, I just want to run away. If I could run away crying, that would be even better, but I don't think that's going to happen. I think that the social conditioning of my balls is preventing me from crying.

I work this job for only one reason; no stress and lots and lots of free time (okay, 2 reasons). It's not for the money, although it doesn't pay poorly. It's not for any prestige - there's none in being an assistant producer/director (fancy-fancy for basically a camera man) of Off-Campus Studies. However, I don't deal with any office politics, no one breathing down my pencil-thin neck and I usually work on average about 4 hours a day. Most of the time I have it really good. I've kept this job so that I could pursue my writing and I like to play and have lots of free time to contemplate existence so that I may write shitty poetry, silly stories, a stupid play and be brought to the brink of complete madness. Sounds great, no?

Well, this is usually how it works. But Summer Sessions is just 16 hours away and it's preparing to KICK. MY. ASS. That's how it works. A really easy year, except for 6 weeks during the summer when I get COMPLETELY bent over and no lube in sight...they actually line up. I mean, who wouldn't? A stressed out Greek-Irish hairy ass with no lube? Yum. Take a number...

One morning last week was indicative of how the last 2 weeks have gone and basically summed it all up in about a span of an hour and a half.

1. I hit myself in the head with the trunk of the car...hard. I had to check for blood.

2. I slipped while hiking down the bluff to the beach with the dogs and cracked my knee cap (one should never hike in heels).

3. I poked myself in the eyeball (I have no clue what I was doing).

4. I dropped my bagel, cream-cheese side down first (of course), which initially stuck to my pants, then dropped the rest of the way to the dog-fur laden floor. I didn't even bother to pick off the fur - I ate the damn thing anyway and didn't give a shit.

5. Because right before THAT happened, I dropped my deodorant in the toilet.