I have been pretty stressed out lately, and noticing a few indicators of anxiety neuroses.

anxiety:  "an unpleasant emotional state for which the cause is either not readily identified or perceived to be uncontrollable or unavoidable"   

yay.

I started to ask questions: When did these start? Why am I so sensitive? Why do I feel like I am stressed or anxious all. the. time? 
How come some people can calm down and not me? (apparently, only 18% of Americans. SO 82% of Americans are anxiety free most of the time! no fair!)
and
Why do I only ever use the left-hand "Shift" key?

That last one has been bugging me for a while now, actually.

Anyway, I started looking back on my life and noticing flare-ups of stress, but a general anxiety blanket over most of my thoughts starting around high school.  So naturally I thought it must have started around there. Something about the universally traumatic experience of post-pubertal development within a public high school plus braces plus orchestra minus cool equals inevitable generalized anxiety problems. 

BUT, as I pointed out earlier, not everyone has these chronic problems. Clearly.

And then, remembered for a completely different reason, a fully formed memory floated into my head:..... (bubbly dream sequence harp playing)...

I was walking behind my church, leaving after some post-Mass event or other, and I was worriedly asking my mother what I would have to know to make my First Communion.  I remember that it was warm and sunny outside, with fluffed pine straw in the landscaping to the right of me and the carpool lane on my left. I remember seeing everything from my much smaller 7-year-old height and the hum of the generator behind the old gymnasium. 
And I remember someone telling me "...you're going to be quizzed on all the priest's homilies. I hope you were paying attention..." 
and all of this, the carpool lane, the generator, the pine straw swirling around me as anxiety scooped me into it's dizzying arms.
 ...I haven't been paying attention, I worried, I'm not going to get it. I'll never get it. I'll be old and wrinkly and no one will give me the Eucharist...

Something in his voice (and the laughter that followed the statement) told me he was kidding, but I couldn't undo the worry. And I didn't - not until I finally did make my First Communion a few agonizing months later (during which I spent every Sunday willing my attention to the priest at his pulpit and begging my brain to remember it). 

And so the pattern goes.

1. Evil thoughts.
2. Needless worry
3. Needless worry
4. must calm down.  CALM DOWN.
5. Oh no!! [insert worry here] is about to happen...
6. Oh, what? [insert worry here] already happened? And everything's fine? Oh. Phew.
7. repeat. ad nauseum.

 Moral of the story: Claire has been like this for a while.

I don't know if you can tell, but I'm about to graduate from college. 
 

this type

"Claire!"

My ears prick up at my name. I am walking from the MARTA station to my office and halfway through one of the tunnels between two buildings (the kind that go over the street) when I hear someone call my name. Who would be calling my name this far from the office? Maybe it's one of the people I work with who ride MARTA.

Anyone who knows my name can't be a stranger.

I turn around to face the person who has called my name.   ...And I do not recognize this person.  He is about my height, mid forties, African-American, bespectacled. I've definitely never seen him before.  But how could he know my name?
Maybe I met him around the office.  Maybe someone directed him to one of the interns because he needed help on a project.

I put on my polite face.

He says hi, and allows his business card to do the introduction.  He talks to me about working in the building, asks me about my job, what I am doing, what I am studying etc.  It dawns on me that the only way he could have known my name is if he had read it off my ID badge.

As the topics get more personal, I realize this is not a business transaction.  And then as he walks with me through the lobby towards the elevators, my suspicions are confirmed.

"So, what are your lunch plans?"

I told him it was my last week of work and burrowed myself through people deep into the back of the elevator.

It's happened again!  Sometimes people have a "type" that they date/are attracted to...but what if a type has you?

I did not get this kind of creeper attention before...

1. I got a job, and
2. I got my hair cut.

This damn Zooey Deschanel hair is just too cute for its own good. And all kinds of creepers are getting trapped in it like a fisher's net. Made of bangs.
 

Oh, Zooey.

how do you know?

When does one discover that he or she is immortal?

Surely it's not all as cut and dry as vampires make it seem. Sure, you get sired, you die, you rise again, you live forever. Never aging past that point.

But then there are stories like Tuck Everlasting. All the poor Tuck family did was drink from a spring! And there was no warty old witch or enchanted crow or strongly-worded sign to warn them against it. They were just thirsty.

don't drink the Kool-aid, Rory

In the book, the family discovers they are immortal because some mortal peril befalls their cat (or horse? it's been a while)  but the cat doesn't die. Like magic or something. And then the horse gets injured, and one of the family gets mortally wounded or something - anyway! No one dies. Musta been that darn spring water!

BUT what if it's not that easy? What if some new magic made you immortal and you had no way of tracing it back?  It could have been as simple as eating an avocado between 12:36 and 12:37 AM on a Friday the 13th.  It could have been winning six games of Monopoly in a row (maybe over several years).  It could have been letting an old lady have your seat on the bus (because, let's face it, most old ladies on the bus are probably gypsies). 

but then again, gypsies come in all shapes and sizes. Don't drink the Kool-aid, Meryl Streep!

My point is, when do you start to notice you're not aging? In our society, it's possible to avoid mortal injury for several years at a time! How are you supposed to know you're immortal if it was an accident?
Eventually the comments have to stop being "Jen, you look amazing!" and start sounding more like "That bitch Jen is back. How is her- what is her... face... doing- how does she...? ...Bitch."  And even then, when would you start to notice?

I sure hope I'm not accidentally immortal.
Everyone would hate or fear me, I'd outlive everyone I love, and I'd have to see 6 more Transformers movies squeeze their way into theaters.

and to think some people would kill to live forever...

I'm lookin at you, Voldemort.

Dizzy Teddy and Brah-ms

I think it's safe to say that the worst word pair you can hear in a classroom is "group project."

...followed closely by "gas leak" or "cumulative final."

My Happiness class (which is slowly becoming an ironic title) has a group project component. We have to make up our own research question about happiness and design a research study and...

I already don't want to do this. I hope this isn't a reflection on my interest level in the subject! It's probably just a representation of my horrible work ethic. For example, I have a research paper due next Wednesday and I was all gung-ho to start writing/accumulating research and instead I sat down to my computer and started blogging. Blerg.

Anyway, group projects. Every group project is the same.  No matter how many members, it could be two, it could be ten, there will be ONE person whose schedule is days ahead of everyone else. This person makes the others feel lazy, but to appease this member, the others pump out whatever they were supposed to contribute according to the Proactive Person's schedule. How is that fair? It's not. But life isn't fair, as I was reminded constantly as a child.

There is also always AT LEAST one  incompetent slacker who has decided to ride on the coattails of the other group members, who are all really just towed behind the Proactive Person. Incompetent Slacker will finish his/her assignment at the last possible second and rarely be on time/show up to group meetings in the library.

During my last group project, I discovered that I was the slacker for the first time in the history of my education. I felt terrible to be bringing down my group, but then I discovered how liberating it was not having to carry the rest of the group as Ms. Proactive. And now I am spoiled and I don't want to be that person ever again. It's a vicious cycle. Actually, it's more like when you realize that the backpack you have been lugging around all day is 470 pounds and if you carry your books to class one at a time instead of being prepared for everything all the time, you are much more comfortable.
I mean I guess. I haven't taken my books to class since freshman year.

So in Happiness class, we are charged to make groups of four. I look at the three people in my immediate area.

1. Thom (see RLS: MetalSlayer) 
2. Thom's metal friend, who looks like a teddy bear that has been through the dryer one-too-many times. His hair sticks up, fluffy, and there is a slight dizzy look to him as he talks about the freaktacular MetalSlayer album out next month.
3. Brah-guy, named for his propensity to refer to people as "brah," which is slightly acceptable given our proximity to the beach. He has short red hair and clothes that look like he's been wearing them for years, not in a dirty way but in a loose and comfortable way. He's the kind of person who insists on wearing flip flops year-round.

 I really need to stop judging people.

Upon seeing my prospects for my group, I decided to talk to my professor after class and request a random assignment. But then, I thought, what if she assigns me to these dudes anyway? Decisions, decisions. I thought, for sure I will be Proactive Patty for this group. Damn.

As I sat lost in my own worry and ignoring the last few minutes of class, I write my contact info on the sheet of paper Brah-guy has handed me, and I hear Dazed Teddy addressing me from his seat directly behind me.

"Cookies. You want cookies? Cookies?"
Oh, man. This guy is high.
"I mean," he clarifies, "would you like some cookies? I work at a bakery and I took a bunch home today."

It turns out he works at Baked, one of my favorite bakeries in Charleston and just as I am about to say "sure! do you have any Monster cookies? They're my favorite," he says
"Do you want a Monster cookie? And I have chocolate chip. Take a few!"



Maybe this group thing will work out after all.

OK. so about Valentine's day...

For some reason people were worried about me being lonely on Valentine's Day. Because I am currently unattached, this must mean that V-day means Single's Awareness Day (SAD) and upon the stroke of midnight incurs uncontrollable sobbing and self-deprecation.  Not so.

This Valentine's Day (or as Harrison put it "Clearance Chocolates Eve") was amazing! I enjoyed many of the same things couples do on this loveliest of love days:

1. Valentines- dinosaurs and chocolates and a hand-drawn one on my door that said "let's stick together" with a little happy-faced glue bottle
2. Expressions of love from loved ones- my parents sent me a package full of my fiddle music!
3. Serenades- I had a song written about me by the lovely Katelyn Carter and got to hear some new Brother stuff from Shane (:fan girl squee:)
4. Pink things!- clothes and shoes and cupcakes!
5. Treating myself for no reason other than it being the 14th of February- I enjoyed a very delicious and free coffee from Starbucks and a Chocolate Strawberry cupcake from Cupcake. 
6. Dinner with loved ones- even if it was at Liberty cafeteria...

The day was near perfect. However, I did get a rather annoying text message. This is how I read it (witnesses will assure you it was not much different):

Hey Claire! It's that guy you are friendly acquaintances with from church who hasn't talked to you since I started dating that girl that you don't talk to anymore! So anyway, I invited a real good friend of mine (read: lonely fellow-Navy-man) to my intimate Valentine's dinner with me and that girl who hasn't talked to you since freshman year. I was hoping you could drop whatever you're doing this evening to come out with us and make him feel like he isn't a third wheel (which he totally is). Let's face it, you are probably just watching sappy chick flicks and shopping for cats on the internet, because that's what single girls do, right? So come out with us tonight (it's 6:35, so that gives you enough time to put on deodorant at least) instead of sobbing into your ice cream! I'm totally paying for everything. See how nice I am? ;) K bye.  

Several problems with this:

1. no, I don't want to double date with a friendly acquaintance, a stranger, and a girl with a grudge against me.
2. it's 6:35. I already had dinner.
3. I could have romantic dinner plans of my own!
4. Just because I'm single doesn't mean I will take every desperate stranger you throw at me! Show me a picture first. And does he like Muse?
5. why did you invite that guy to your V-day dinner? To get him a date. And your girlfriend is in a sorority full of single girls, so I am pretty sure I was far down on a list of possibilities. It was 6:35. Now I am many-times insulted.

Luckily, I got this about an hour after he sent it, so I had a more legitimate excuse than "ummm...no." But seriously. Like I had nothing better to do!

winter winds

Tomorrow is my (first) interview for my scholarship.

I may find out that my desired occupation/plans of the future do not make me a good candidate, and thus won't be endorsed by the school, or I bomb the interview/application and I don't get endorsed from the school. Oh, yeah, and the third option: I get the committee's approval, toil away all week and weekend finishing the application, and turn it all in on February 1st.
Any way this goes, it is going to be a doozie of a week.

My plan for tomorrow is to go to my classes, eat lunch, and RELAX, rather than study useless facts and get myself in a tizzy.

Meanwhile, Mumford and Sons.

I am so all about these guys right now.

shark farts!

I am about to blerg all over this blog.

But first I need a Coke because I am getting a caffeine-withdrawal headache.

So I am finally in the final stages of finally being final with my final draft of the scholarship application. Finally.

I have the body filled out (ex:  list your awards and scholarships in order of significance. answer: voted Cougar Call Center Puzzle Master 2010) and I have all my essays finished. They just need...lots of touch ups. And a new paint job. Maybe some body work. It'll get there.
It is all officially due on February 1, only 12 days away. And then I promise I will stop talking about it.

During this whole process I have had so many weeks where I've said "as long as I can get through _____ I'll be OK" like "I just need to get through Wednesday and I'm scott free." Sometimes I don't even make plans for the day after that because I can not see that far into the future. Seriously. Well, I am saying it again. As long as I can get through Tuesday, I'll be fine.
Lemme splain.

This weekend will be fine, but Monday and Tuesday bear the mark of the beast.
Monday: first Conditioning and Learning quiz- a class I still haven't received my book for.
Then, immediately after my Happiness class (ironically [well, Alanis Morissette ironic]) I get to make up the Spanish final that I missed for the funeral. Three hours. of Spanish. that I haven't seen in two months.

Tuesday: First Spanish quiz. With maps.
Two papers due for Learning Disabilities.

and oh yeahs this other little thing I might get around to called my TRUMAN SCHOLARSHIP INTERVIEW. Gonna be grilled on NCLB and ESEA and what was in the NYT this morning and how many pages were in Psychology Today three months ago and would I die for my country and if I had to pick which Supreme Court justice would I invite to my birthday and what's a henweigh and how many licks does it really take to get to the center of a tootsie pop and what is the exact national debt at this moment... and anything else I might be expected to know as a person of the world that I defintiely don't know.

I thought it would be easy. Interviewers ask questions about you, and I like to talk about myself. A match made by Patti herself.  But alas, it is a bit more complicated and I may need a pint or two of ice cream afterward. But all I have to do is get through the interview and then I am scott free. Right?