Category: Stress

March 16, 2003 /

There are two reasons I usually need to go running. One, the need for exercise and endorphins and exuberance, has been with me for most of spring term. It’s a good thing, and it’s something I know enough not to indulge when I’ve only had four hours of sleep (as I did for most of this past week).

Earlier tonight I felt the other need, the bad old kind, the fall term kind. It’s not as nice and it’s not rewarding. It is, as it took me a while to realize, a form of self-punishment.

My friends are hurting right now and I don’t know how to fix them. I want to be able to fix anything, but these are human problems with unknown quantities and there’s no easy solution. I know that. But.

This weekend I won one argument: I managed to convince someone that what happened fall term, what made me need to go running, wasn’t her fault. I’m glad of that. I lost another argument: I wanted to visit someone who wouldn’t see me, not because she doesn’t want to, but because she needs time for herself. I don’t mind losing in itself, but I still wish I could talk to her.

I can’t make the cause for the second person’s time alone go away; I can’t fix what’s making the first person want to blame herself; I can’t fix people who are sick and tired, I can’t fix people with misplaced affections, I can’t do much of anything except give of my time.

One of the most important things I learned during my internship, though, is that time isn’t free. My time isn’t free. There’s only so much of it, and I’m more conscious than ever of the fact that I can’t run on four-hour nights indefinitely.

This entry isn’t a question, and it’s not a cry for help. It’s just a monologue. I know people will read this and try to think of ways to help, and that’s beautiful: I hope you know I appreciate it. But I don’t need help yet. I just need to figure out a way to proportion the time I give–to figure out how much is mine to give, and how much is already bought.

That’s one problem I will figure out, I believe. I believe.

March 13, 2003 /

Over the hump of the week now, I think. Wow. Coming back from SETC and going straight back into school things was like jumping out of a placid, cozy houseboat right into a sausage grinder (um, underwater). Makeup tests, makeup homework, Cento, road show, consultant meetings, old-computer hauling, more road show–it’s all been a bit ridiculous,and I’ve had fourteen hours of sleep in the last sixty.

Next couple of days are a bit of a breath, thankfully, and then it’s only a week until spring break. It looks as if Jon, Amanda and I are going to roll up to Bloomington to check out IU and maybe do some interviewing, even though Jon most likely won’t end up there–they apparently only give money to PhD students, and Wake Forest is still falling over itself to attach his name to cash for a Master’s.

Also, on the way up we might get to see Guster in Cincinnati! I want to visit people in Louisville, too, and I’m trying to figure out a way to get dropped off and just stay there on our way back from Indiana. Anybody have a room to let? I’m penniless, but I’m a right hard-working scullery boy, I have all my own teeth, and I reckon I can pick out a merry tune on my nose-flute.

March 6, 2003 /

I got her, Michelle, the director I wanted. My instincts were right, this time: she’s a genius. My director is AMAZING. We (where by “we” I mean “she”) talked about the play for almost an hour, during which she came up with better and more interesting character profiles and staging and motivations than I could have imagined. Her mind moves like water on hot grease. Synergy. This play has the potential to be incredible; I wanted to kick people in the teeth, and that may just be what she’s going to do.

I’m exhausted, ecstatic, emotional. Obviously I’m in a heightened state; I haven’t slept since we left the Days Inn yesterday morning, a low-contrast memory. But I’m excited too, and something in me is trembling. Doing this hurt. Last year I felt fatalistic about what was going to happen that night. This year I feel terrified, and joyful, and I ache.

I’ve written happy and sad before, but I don’t think I’ve ever managed to clearly transmit pain until now. I think The Laramie Project was the most important thing I’ve ever done. I think this was the hardest, and I think I did it right.

Twelve hours of sleep until I watch it come to life.

February 14, 2003 /

I’m so tired it should be visible: there should be waves of it rising off me, distorting the air like our old wood-burning stove.

Last night was the second and last public performance of The Laramie Project. The Fellowship of One, the group of (mostly, and oddly, black) local pastors who have been trying to stop us from doing the play at the high school, were in attendance. They’ve never been uncivil, but their arguments at such venues as the DHS parents’ meeting have consisted mostly of things like

Pastor: The play promotes a homosexual lifestyle.
Teacher: The play doesn’t promote any such thing. It shows viewpoints from all sides, including Christian values like mercy and forgiveness, and it shows what happens to people when a crime forces them to confront the issue of prejudice in their community. This is why we’re teaching it as part of our curriculum during Black History Month.
Pastor: The play promotes a homosexual lifestyle!

Last night, they left after the second act. Jeff, our director, ran out after them and asked what they’d thought of the show. Only one of them would speak to him, but what he said was

“This is a play about not hating people. You’ve made your point.”

We did it. We did it right.

Exhaustion, and triumph, and a ring around the moon.

February 12, 2003 /

Collective effervescence.

We’ve started the play, and it’s perfect, raw, gorgeous, exactly everything we wanted it to be.

Afterwards, I walked to the gas station to buy more caffeine (the presentation has yet to be done). I had a flower in my backpack from Deb, and was listening to a Duncan Sheik song, of all things, and I could see the whole scope of it: how last year was home, and this year is setting out away from it. How and why I’ve done what I’ve done, here. How this is the biggest year I’ve ever lived.

December 3, 2002 /

Managed to sleep for three hours. For me, Mister Doesn’t Nap, that’s fairly hardcore. I feelbetter, if not nearly better enough to do everything I have to do tonight. Onward, men! Bring me mysword and red shirt!

Anyway, music. I recently rediscovered that the soundtrack to Sneakers is excellent walking-around music, especially in winter. I think itwould also be great music for a silent underwater documentary, or a console RPG, and would like totest those theories someday. BrendanCo: Where the music for everything is the soundtrack toSneakers!

Something about providing great semi-rare music illegally, blah blah blah. Listen to this, it’s myfavorite track.

james_horner_feat._branford_marsalis_-_’too_many_secrets’.mp3

November 4, 2002 /

Emily R kind of got lost and I was worried she’d be the second Fifth Street shooting victim, but allturned out well even though I didn’t get to see her. I didn’t have to build a set, but I did spend an awful lot of time taking clothes off and putting them on in different configurations.

And the dance was in the dining hall, of course, and the punch was bad, and the band was awful, and it was the most fun ever. This would have been about the best weekend ever, actually, if it hadn’t been for the Emily panic (which was not her fault) and another situation that came up with some mutual friends and a mutual not-so-friend (which is his fault) and made Sunday night suck a little.

But, y’know. Audrey.

Speaking of which, cam = best mullet yet!

Today I have spent a lot of time investigating and applying and not doing my homework. In this, it seems, I have something in common with ETS:

  • “Complete the Authorization Voucher Request Form found in the Bulletin.
  • Mail the fee and voucher request form in the CBT envelope to the address printed on thevoucher.”

A curious proposition, to say the least, as I’m filling out the voucher request to get a voucher. These are the people who wrote the tests that will determine whether I’m allowed into gradschool! Trust!

(I can’t believe I’m linking to “Wonderwall”)

November 2, 2002 /

I think that as of this week I have reached Critical Busy Mass. I’m scraping together the stuff towork at the family biz for my winter internship, to take the GRE (I’m so poor it’s free!), and of course figure out if and where I want to do the grad school thing. And that’s the long-term stuff. There’s also still the play, and the other play, and the job, and the other job, and I just remembered I have to run (literally) down to the flower shop to pick up a corsage. Yow!

I’ve pretty much had to quit running, thanks to the frigid weather (I have no cold-running gear) and the fact that what used to be my afternoon time slot is now usually filled with other stuff. I’m keeping the weight off with sheer nervous energy, I think, but I miss it. The exercise, that is, not the weight. It’s too bad Halo doesn’t burn calories.

Today: Corsage! Build set! Visit Emily R from Richmond! Hang out / eat / dance with Audrey! It’s a mad house.

In the middle of the street.

July 20, 2002 /

GSP is done as of twenty-eight hours ago; the post-GSP party/nap/wake for the RAs is done as of seven hours ago. It’ll be good to get some sleep,but of course I’m sad. This year I actually had some idea what I was doing, and with a couple notable exceptions I felt closer to all of my Scholars because of that. I miss them.

There are stories, the ones I couldn’t tell while things were in session because I was on the job. Now they can, in fact, be told, but I don’t currently have the strength for that much typing. I’ll get to it soon.

Meanwhile: I get to go see Angie! Again!