The pressure is apparently starting to get to me, in a half-celebrated manner, because I miss this stress. I do love it as much as I dislike it. I can't get half-assed to wear colourful clothes, or the extra layers that are meant to keep me warm. I'm working all day and getting nowhere. I keep thinking about things like the BA course, teaching, jello shots, sex and what time will I actually fall asleep tonight? Also, I get antsy at people and wish that I can just put all the people who annoy me into a small cramped room and force-feed them viagra mixed with laxatives. All the pent-up claustrophobia, sexual tension and bodily functions will get to them in time and I can then send that little room up into space via airhooks, and never see any of them again. When the aliens take over our solar system they will shake their heads sadly as they find the residue of some charming human misjudgement, an orgy gone out of hand in an exotic space high up above the atmosphere. I do love fantasising.
This, apparently, is how my mind deals with pressure. (Portfolio day is so close! Should I still apply to Slade? They do have an awfully inconvenient portfolio handling fee which I am reluctant to pay for.) I also deal with it by random cravings of exotic fruit.
I learnt something today. Cars are to women what boobs are to men. I'm not sure about the ramifications of such a discovery yet, and admittedly I got this information from a Hongkong guy I don't trust entirely.
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