I WANT MY MOMMY

I should be studying right now as I sit my first exam, since I was 20, on Monday morning at 9:30am. But a caffeine, taurine, and nicotine induced headache has kept me from doing little else than scarf down chocolate and copy my notes onto notecards. Oh yea, and chain smoking Marlboro lights.

My pound a day weight loss may be coming to an end very shortly.

Well, unless I become recommitted to the neurosis cause again.

My sleep schedule is incredibly fucked up. If it isn’t the massive amounts of legal stimulants that I am pumping into my body IV-drip consistency, then it must be the panic attacks that wake me in the middle of the night, only to leave my worn body and mind in that frustratingly blurry place where sleep and coherency lay.

After a rough day of pleasure denial, fasting, and pouring over my notes in an effort to distill them into succinct two sentence synopsis of the arguments, my brain gave out. It was 11pm, and for the first time since my trip back home to NYC last week I was tired at a reasonable hour. With my computer sitting on top of my nightstand, I watch some pirated copies of Family Guy and proceed to fall asleep to Stewie’s overt homosexuality.

Now, I wish I could say that for the first time I arrived back here that my dedication to my body’s well-being won out and that it was a good decision for me to go to sleep at a reasonable hour, but come on, it’s finals week.

When I woke up, I had to pee really badly. I look over at my clock and saw that it was 1am—which meant that I got a whopping two hours of sleep. I tried to hold it in and fall back asleep, but when I felt the pain in my bladder, I knew I had to get up from my bed and go to the bathroom. I was so tired I was tempted to crawl out of bed and go to the bathroom in my underwear, but I live next door to a conservative Christian. I don’t think he could ever get over seeing me in my skivvies prancing to the bathroom at 1am.

I come back to my room, crawl back into bed and try to fall asleep.

And I can’t.

I try masturbating, and then try to fall back asleep.

But it doesn’t help.

And then my mind starts to wonder. I don’t know if any of you ever had the experience where you don’t realize what you were dreaming until you are awake for a few mins. Laying there, in my bed, I realized that my dream was really fucked up and spooky—I dreamt that I overslept my exam and then failed.

Now, when your mind starts to wonder, and it is the middle of the night and the only thing to keep you company is the dark of a Saturday night spent home, it only serves to exacerbate a person’s neurosis. Which it did to mine.

So I sat in my bed, until 7! am, trying to fall asleep to Dave Chappelle, and nursing a panic attack that held my mind hostage so I could get no other studying done.

Which brings us here.

So, long time readers, you all know that after several tries, a freak-out, and weird periods, I have finally found a birth control pill that works for me! However, it’s also the one that has been liked to STROKES in the UK—and during finals time I become a heavy (about a pack a day) smoker.

I think we all can see where this is going.

Tonight’s neurosis has been trying to figure out if my headache is from too much Red Bull and drinking a two liter bottle of Diet Coke today or, if it is a symptom of my impending brain aneurism. And no I can’t take a xanax because there is no way I could do work while I’m on it.

Having gone to bed at 7am I set the alarm for 11:30am. A bit of a later start than I would have liked, but during finals, I need at least 4 hours of sleep to be productive. Part of my ritual during finals is that since I am rubbish in the morning, I use that time to head out to the grocery store, stock up on provisions for the day’s task (Red Bull, Diet Coke, and Marks and Spencer’s prepared meals) and use that time to engage my lungs in a way that doesn’t involve poisoning them.

This morning I walk down Cornmarket street, one of the main thoroughfares of Oxford where street performs are just as common as the homeless men (where are the homeless women, btw?) selling the Big Issue. Keep in mind that I am freaking out from my dream the night before/that morning, and as I am walking down Cornmarket, I see a stand handing out pamphlets for Jesus. Ok, this isn’t that big of a deal, it’s pretty common for the die hard Jesus lovers to evangelize on a Saturday morning to the tourists. However, this morning, it seemed every religious group was out. Literally every ten feet there was another group proselytizing, including the Muslims—which I thought were like Jews, you had to seek them out yourself. Of course, neurotic, sleep deprived, food deprived, love and hug deprived Shannon starts to freak the fuck out, and think that God is sending her a message telling her that she is going to fail—the dreams were prophetic.

Which brings me back to my uber productive day.

Why wasn’t I smart and stock up on ADD meds BEFORE I left for the states? Red Bull is doing a poor job of cutting it.

Anyway, I’m going to bring my computer back to my desk. Pop open another can of Red Bull (#3 for the day), ignore the temporary pain that it causes me in my kidneys, and start memorizing arguments and outlining exam questions.

Seriously, I really want a fucking hug right now. And sex. Like seriously, whenever I’m stressed there is nothing I want more than to boink someone.