I told you I would start this thing and promptly drop off the face of the planet.
It was not because I became a successful author who could then look down on such pithy things as blogging.
It was not because I because I became the next Glee star filled with iconic musical ability and a depth for stereotypical emotion that will move Gleeks to the point of tears.
No. I can honestly say it’s because I am a bonafide crazay person who took ALL the life things and heaped them heartily onto a single plate and then decided to run as fast as I could because I thought I had a future as a track star.
I tried to take life by the horns and smack it into the ground to make it mine. I told it where it could shove it’s difficulties and important milestones, and it ended prrrrrreettttyyyyy badly.
And for these reasons, PTSD was inevitable. Like every semester of a college student’s career, finals week results in forgetfulness. Forgetfulness to bathe, to eat, sometimes to breathe. It is a horribly traumatic process, and only the strong survive. And those who are “strong,” limp woundedly to the finish line of winter break where nothing but the flu and horrifically awkward family moments await them.
Being the over-achiever that I am, I decided to add 10 incredibly important, life-altering, please-don’t-screw-these-up applications to an already ridiculous load of papers, exams, and grading (since I also decided to teach two classes this semester).
So basically I’ve been very little more than an incarnate, continuous cycle of post-traumatic stress.
Add a few moments of pure terror about font sizes and reference writers for a few applications, a cross-country move for the parents, and an extensive stay at the future in-laws.
BUT I am now a human, and therefore I will try to write once again. I have several months of funny, humorous, and awesome stories coming right up!