It all started last Friday, see...
After the travesty that was my Doomed Programming Test, and the blah-iness of the rest of the day, I decided I might as well have a decently early night, as I had a lot of important work to be done over the weekend for Uni. This was due to the evilness of Lecturers, who gave me a Maths Test on Monday and a Psych Report due in the very same day and a programming assignment due in the end of the week (which I am slightly behind on) and my regular weekly Creative Writing work, as well as some extra stuff for my Tute presentation this week.
However, the early night was not to be. Due to the cold I had, that caused me to lose my voice on Friday, the remaining tiredness of Thursday, and a horrific stomach ache due to...being female and all that comes with it. Very little sleep was had. I ended up waking up at about lunchtime the next day, but still extraordinarily tired, and feeling dreadful. I decided to give myself the day off from actual work, and that I would focus mainly on the Psych report, and Maths on Sunday. Programming and CW could be saved for later in the week. So I lazed around on Friday, messed around online that night, managed to somehow get a blood nose, and at the back of mind, start freaking slightly about Ye Olde Work Load.
So I attempted (and failed, yet again) to get a good nights sleep, if not quite as early as the previous. But Though the cold was going, the stomache ache was worse, and I managed to gain a headache and a whole lot of stress by Sunday morning. At which point I was feeling positively horrid. But I had to get that Report done by Monday (I didn't worry much about the Maths test - I was much better on the assignments this semester, and I passed it last semester, after all). However, even after printing out a bunch of old journal articles for referencing, I just couldn't get started.
Now, as a lot of people who know me are aware, I am a terrible procrastinator. I always put things off to the last minute - hence the day before it was due work on Psych. This is because though once I get into the work I am fine, I have huge difficulties starting work. (unless it's creative writing, which is fun) And Psych reports are something I find particulaly hard to start. So I sat there, file open on my computer, articles spread neatly on the floor nearby, book open on the instructions on what to do - and nothing happened. I just couldn't get started. And though in the back of my mind a slight sensation of panic was starting, I did nothing.
I though maybe a little entertainment might help me relax, so I went and checked me email, read over my flist, that sort of thing. Nothing. I looked at one of my reports from last semester. Nothing. Looked at the instruction sheet. Nothing. Went back online. Nothing. And the whole time, I was sitting there, feeling achey and greasy and ill and tired, and worrying about the report and the test and the other work and at the back of my mind, panic is starting to well up, and I'm shouting at myself "Start, you idiot!" and it's not happening. I do my laundry, I go have dinner. Come back. Manage to format the file properly, set up headings and sections and footers, brush up on my referencing, and it's just not working. And I am getting more and more panicked, which just makes it harder and harder to start, so I go online to destress, and get distracted, which makes me panic even more, and I write a little bit, but I am getting nowhere.
And this goes on all. Fucking. Night. Tiny little bits written, as I feel sicker and tireder and more and more panicked. Until it's 3AM and I am practically falling asleep in my seat, and all I have written is the easy, obvious stuff I probably should have done a week ago when we got the assignment sheet. But I can't rest because the rest needs to be done. And at this point, I know I'll never get it finished by the Maths test at 4.15, and it suddenly hits me that I have a Maths test in about 12 hours, and I can barely see without it blurring in front of me.
At which point I decide to have a shower. Because, I figure, the warm water might make my stomach stop aching, and the make me feel less greasy and ick, and I could probably do to get away from my catastrophy of a room for the first decent amount of time that entire weekend. And it'll make we up a bit, also. Which is a grand idea in theory and all, except I forgot that when you are in the shower, you need to think about something. And I go to the stupid college shower, and some idiot has left a huge puddle on the floor, as always, and the fucking shower door is off it's fucking hinges, and the whole time I am standing there thinking, "I'll never get it done, it's not fair, so much work all at once, Psych and that Maths test, and Writing and Programming, and I feel horrible, and why can't it be some other week, and it is Not. Fucking. Fair!" And even after the shower I still look like a damned zombie, and I am seriously trying to work out if there is some way I can get myself submitted into hospital, just so I won't have to do all this goddamn work.
At which point it is probably extremely lucky no-one else on my floor is awake, because I know, I just know that at this point if I saw anyone else, I would seriously fall apart, and go completely nutso. I already feel like yelling and screaming and throwing things, and if anyone else was around, well, I'd have someone to aim for. But they aren't, and it is dead quiet, so I go back to my room, and look at the nice bright 4AM on my clock, and manage to completely freak out. I have a test in 12 hours! Which has the advantage of getting me to do some serious work. So I sit there, working frantically, and for the next three hours getting stuff done. But, by 7AM I am even more dead, and I know I should keep going, a couple more more hours and the thing will be finished, but I also know I can't go into a Maths test zombified. So I say to myself "Fuck it, I'll justhand the stupid thing in a day late", set my alarm for noon, and finally get some sleep.
Now, the sleep is wonderful, and I wake up actaully feeling alive, if not particularly perky or cheerful, and manage to get 3 hours or so of work done, and I am so close, so damned close to finishing the stupid report that I could almost do it. But I have that stupid test to go to, so I grab some clothes, my pencil case, and Ye Olde Tardis (that ickle backpack of mine), and toddle down to Uni. I have half an hour to spare, so I buy one of the biggest Lattes I can find, with a stack of sugar in it, then toddle of to Second Floor to kill time, rant about how horrible my weekend has been, and generally get some sympathy (because I know I still look dreadful, and I was far too tired to dress up nice).
Of course, the large, sugary coffee makes me all edgy and hyper, and far too bouncy (the kind of bouncy that makes you want to pass out afterwards), but I wander down to Wilson Hall for the test. And I see nobody I know. And I am aware that other tests areon at the same time, but it still freaks me, and I am starting to wonder that I am in the right place - I probably should have checked again - so, to reassure myself, when the doors open, I go upto one of the nice supervisor men and ask him.
And he informs me that, yes, more than one test is on in here. And just to get rid of my last nerves, I ask about Maths A. And he tells me, no it's not in here. I freeze - where the hell amd I supposed to go? And he ever so kindly informs me that the Maths A test is going to be held tomorrow morning.
Yes, that's right, I had the wrong fucking day!
At which point, I burst into tears in the middle of Wilson Hall.
All my stress, and panic and tiredness, and giving up on that stupid lab report was for nothing. I could have finished it, I could have handed it in and slept for the next 12 hours. And now I was going to lose marks for an overdue report for nothing. And I start pleading with the supervisor, pleading that the test is today, that it wasn't late for no reason, all the while sobbing hysterically. Which I am sure freaked the poor man out immensely.
After a while I wander off, trying to stop myself from crying, when I suddenly realise there is still almost two hours left. And I had nearly finished the report! So I sprint back up to college, literally sprinting, and giving myself a horrible stitch in the process, and fly upto my room, and for the next hour, work frantically, writing and concluding and cutting out words so that I make the word limit, racing against the clock.
And finally, at 5.30, I manage to get the dratted thing in the word limit. So I quickly print it out, grab my bag back off the bed, and head back down to Uni. Up the elevator, into the Psych office, fill out a cover sheet, staple it together, and slide the damned report into the assignment box.
And it is handed in with 10 minutes to go.
And it is at this point, it hits me just how fucking insane everything has been. And I am still tired and greasy and not feeling well, and I have sore eyes from crying, and am short of breath from running, and you know what? I start laughing. Because it is so. Fucking. Hysterical.
And I cheerfully grin my way back up to college for dinner, and back to my room, and I don't care about the test tomorrow, or all the other damned work, because it all just so funny.
Uh...yeah. And that's the epic tale of my nervous breakdown. If I seem a bit crazy over the next few days, that'd be why. Because I am crazy.