As of today, I am letting go of all my stress and refusing to let it control my life like some kind of heinous disease. Earlier this morning, I nearly threw a coffee flask at the computer screen so much was my frustration. That incident was sort of understandable though - seriously, why do definitions include the word they are defining as a means of explanation? "Ethnographic - of or relating to ethnography." Oh! Now I get it, thanks a lot... To be fair, I was already frustrated before I'd even started my work as I'd just found my lost bank card under a pile of crap on my desk. 'Isn't that a good thing?' I hear you ask, but no. It is not. You see, I "lost" my bank card on Friday night after not being able to find it on Saturday morning and assuming I'd left it in the cash machine in the SU. I rang up to try and cancel it and ended up locking myself out of my account before I'd even started talking to a real human, and when I finally did get through to someone that wasn't a robot, they spoke with such a strong accent they may as well have been. After just saying, 'yes, that's fine' every time there was a pause in their speech, my new card will apparently be arriving in 5 working days. At my mum's house. In Bradford. 60 miles away. Cherry on top of the cake, isn't it? I really wish I had gone to Tesco on Friday like I told myself I would as now I have very little food to last until my new card arrives. I've managed to scrounge enough money for a loaf of bread, some reduced cheese, some malted milk biscuits and a bottle of milk. Maybe this is God's way of telling me to stop eating so much...
The card misfortune was only a small element of the humongous stress I have been having this week - I've even gained two self-help enthusiast followers on my Twitter page due the amount of times I have typed the word 'stress'. It doesn't even seem like a real word anymore, it just feels like... You know when people lose a limb and they can apparently still feel it after its gone? They can feel it itching and stuff, but there isn't an actual limb to scratch so they're just left in this horrible abyss of dissatisfaction? That is what stress is to me now. I stress so much about getting all my work done that when I sit down to do it I am too stressed to concentrate and I am left screaming 'WRITE SOMETHING!' at myself whilst people walk past my door and confirm everyone's worst fears - I have gone mad. Every night I go to bed, hug my ceramic cat close to my chest and then spend hours staring at the ceiling thinking about everything I need to do, every so often leaping out of bed and switching my computer on to look up research/attempt to write my entire dissertation/look up what happens if I fail my degree etc. etc. etc. None of these things have been very productive, and mostly have just resulted in me being extremely tired and grumpy the next day, thus making it even harder to do any work. However, as of now, right this minute, I am not letting myself be stressed. Do I want my degree? Yes. Am I going to kill myself trying to get it? No. (Will my parents kill me if I don't get it? Yes). I am obviously still going to try my hardest - this isn't a "I can't do it so I'm giving up" post, this is a "If I get it, I get it - stressing will not help me get it" post.
I am also going to try and improve my attention span somewhat. Earlier today, I stopped writing mid-sentence to go and wash my face, and then I decided that it was the right moment in time to arrange my CDs in order of when I bought them. (A bad idea, I could only remember three occasions, and they were all last week).
I apologise for the negativity of this post, I will be back on happy form come June time and this horrendous ordeal is over. Oh, and if you have children, give them this advice from me: Do not go to university unless it is something you really want. It will make you hate the world, hate everyone else, and all you will get out of it is a three-year-headache and a ceramic domesticated animal. (And maybe, maybe, a degree).