Tagged: anxiety

Aca-anxiety.

My coworker, Awesome Andy (his name suggestion, not mine) said I should write about anxiety for my blog today and call it Aca-anxiety because we’ve been chilling to Pitch Perfect music all day because we’re aca-awesome. Although clearly I decided not to call it that, because SEO optimization is a thing.

And lo, with one paragraph I’ve managed to confuse and alienate half my readers.

Anxiety is a funny monster to deal with, because it strikes at the weirdest times.

The single most powerful thing I’ve ever come across that helped me tackle anxiety is the realization that anxiety and worry only concern things that haven’t happened yet. I mean, obviously.

Once you realize that worry only concerns things that haven’t happened yet, you can tackle the issue that you can’t change what’s about to happen, nor can you really predict what’s about to happen. Sure, you can sometimes make a fairly accurate guess as to what is going to occur in the near future, but do we ever really know for sure? No.

Thereafter it follows that anxiety and worry are pointless, because they don’t really change anything.

That’s my poignant advice, I guess.

Not like I’ve ever personally followed it.

Wamp wamp.

Grad school in memes.

Oh, internet. I have been trying to stay away from you. Waiting on grad school is officially one of the worst things ever. It’s right up there with people that talk with food in their mouths and getting a speeding ticket for going 6 miles over when you were just about to break, officer, you swear you were. 

I’ve just been sitting here on my computer refreshing my internet and my email over and over and over again. It’s like the least exciting video game you’ve ever played. I go on grad cafe and type the names of my various schools into the results search and just stare at the screen going WHY DID THAT PERSON HEAR BACK TWO DAYS AGO AND I HAVEN’T???!!??!?!?

I was planning on writing an elegant piece on gender politics, but I just refreshed my email 4 more times between these two paragraphs, so I think it’s in my best interest to leave that till Saturday and go find some where without internet to chill out and read Cloud Atlas or something.

Peace out, y’all. I’ll leave you with this pictures as a testament to my thoughts on applying to grad school:

I applied super casual like:

hnwcassandra bear

And then it sunk in like:

hnw cassandra dog pool

So now I feel:

hnw cassandra ostrich

But hopefully next week it’ll be like:

hnw cassandra baby

Manuscript Mondays- Here goes nothing.

I’ve decided I’m not going to enter the March 15th contest after all. I’m not even remotely close to being ready to submit anything worth reading, and I just don’t have the time right now to catch up. I swear if I don’t hear back from grad schools this week, I will have a nervous breakdown. I can feel the anxiety sitting in my stomach like a nest of vipers going you’re not going to get in you pathetic loser and I can’t get away from it. I just want to curl up into a little ball and refresh my email until I get something. This hanging-in-the-balance thing is driving me insane.

However, despite all of this panic attacking I’ve been doing, work on my book, Alpha, continues slowly but steady, and despite my misgivings about quality, I’ve decided to suck it up and let y’all read the scene where we meet Marie, Kate, and Alex for the first time.

I’ll take any and all feedback on this, peeps. If you don’t want to comment, feel free to email me at hnwcassandra@gmail.com.

***

“Well, if it isn’t the Threesome,” a male voice said loudly as they crossed the threshold into the club. Heads turned, and even over the music Marie could make out the ever-present murmur of voices that always greeted her arrival. She inclined her head slightly and gave the guy a once over as they made their way to the bar.

He was tall and broad, definitely cute, but nothing special. Freckles flickered over his pointy nose, green eyes peeked out from a tidily cut sweep of red hair, but there was nothing worth remembering about him. He was leaning against the bar in a gesture of constructed ease, but his toes pointed together rather than outwards, a sure sign of timidity. His chin was tucked in a submissive way, and he kept staring, gawking really. She smiled. A Random – a reckless one, but an unaffiliated Random clearly out to boost his social status on a gamble. He had most likely been waiting for them to arrive. She caught eyes with Alex, her favorite Beta, and raised an eyebrow. Alex smirked.

It was not the first time Marie had been accosted as she entered the bar, nor would it be the last. Such was the price of popularity. Usually, she didn’t deign to speak to the nameless and the unranked, pariahs who roamed the outskirts of her social circles clinging to the undertow of what was “in”, but what the hell. She’d throw a dog a bone. She was in a good mood.

The bartender handed Alex a glass of white wine and Kate, the third member of their trio, a cosmopolitan, without being prompted. Her girls could be tirelessly predictable. The bartender waited for her order patiently. Marie slid past the Random to get closer to the bar and leaned her head in conspiratorially.

“What’s the drink of the night, Larry?” she asked jovially.

Larry grinned. “Most of the girls are drinking mojitos tonight, and the group of boys in the corner just ordered a round of 9.”

“Number 9 it is, Larry. Thank you.”

She turned her attention to the boy still leaning on the bar top.

“To whom do I owe the pleasure of the greeting?” she asked lightly, watching as his fingers started to tighten around the neck of his own Magic Hat. He hesitated just a moment too long before answering. Careful, Nobody, your awkwardness is showing, Marie though to herself.

“It’s Evan,” he said, leaning closer to her, trying to compensate for the noise of the club. His upper body rotated to face her and his feet started to shift subtly into a more commanding position.

Better, Marie thought. Not quite there, but better. She shifted so the neckline of her top drifted downwards to a more revealing angle as she accepted a smoking bottle from Larry. Evan’s feet immediately turned back inwards. She smirked.

“I see,” Marie replied. “I’m Marie, and this is Alex and Kate. But you knew that, of course.”

Evan’s eyes shifted from her to Alex and Kate somewhat blankly.

“Pleased to meet you,” he said, refocusing on Marie. “Glad to finally meet the girl behind M. You’re certainly popular on the circuit.”

Kate shifted her weight to one foot and put her hand on her hip.

“Bored,” she said icily.

Marie smiled at her.

“Now Kate, don’t be rude to our fan club. Or more accurately, mine.”

She fished a pen from her bag and dragged a cocktail napkin on the bar top towards her with one finger. Signing it, she handed it to Evan with the tips of the fingers.

“There’s an autograph to take home and frame, sweetheart. Always love to meet a fan.”

Without another word, Marie turned and walked deeper into the club, leaving a shell-shocked Evan behind. Kate followed briskly. Alex gave him her signature onceover, snorted, and left him in the dust.

Evan was left with the delicate paper dangling from his fingertips, ripped by the force of Marie’s signature. The bartender, Larry, leant over towards him. He gestured towards the three girls, who were walking through the club almost in slow motion, so everyone could get a good look at them. The blonde one, Kate, casually flicked her hair behind her shoulder as she passed by a table of girls clutching tumblers of bright green mojitos.

“They’re pretty to look at, but God, they’re all stuck-up bitches,” Larry said consolingly to Evan.

“I suppose so,” Evan replied, crumpling the napkin in his hand and directing his gaze to the table the Threesome had passed by. Two of the girls sitting there had their hands pressed to their mouths to stop the sound of their laughter from escaping as their friend imitated Kate’s pretentious hair flicking maneuver. Evan put an extra dollar on the bar for Larry and walked over to the table with the mojitos, leaving the napkin with Marie’s signature on it for the bartender to throw away.

 

 

40 Days- The Fruit Fast.

I’m doing a fruit fast this week, internet, and as it stands right now, I would shank somebody for a slice of pizza. 

I said it. Little Miss Yogi can’t do this anymore. I’m freaking out, man. I’M FREAKING OUT.

How long have I been on this horrific fruit fast, you may ask?

Um.

24 hours?

I know. Pathetic, right? It amazes me how much of my day revolves around food. It’s sad. I went to go buy bananas yesterday, and past my favorite pizza joint and out of habit I put my blinker on to go in. I don’t know whether to be in my house so I can eat fruit whenever I want or be out of my house so I don’t break into the mac and cheese. I can’t even Pinterest because looking at recipes makes me hungry. 

What is up with this, people?? Am I losing it? (Related question- did I ever have it?)

I don’t know why I’m struggling so hard with this. My parents have a smoothie maker and a juicer and a well stocked pantry full of all the delights of every rabbit I’ve ever met. I started off my first day with a broiled grapefruit and strawberries and a big glass of freshly made pineapple-apple-mint juice. It was scrumptious. So why am I sitting here envisioning a toasted everything bagel smothered in dripping Manchego cheese?

Okay. Stop. Breathe.

I never knew how much food ruled me. I eat fairly healthily. I’m a huge fish fan. I voluntarily make and consume a massive amount of brussel sprouts. The amount of sushi my family goes through on a weekly basis would, quite frankly, make a lot of my friends gross out in a major way. That being said, when I crave a bagel, I go get one. If I want Chinese food at three in the morning, I have to have it. I will go out of my way some days to plan my schedule so I can go out and eat somewhere without my mom knowing about it. It’s my secret little act of rebellion (well, not secret anymore).

I feel like I’m being tested and coming up lacking, internet. Last week, I said I was going to make an effort to go to a morning class. I still haven’t, because the mere thought of having to wake up in the morning makes me anxious. The mere thought of denying myself certain foods, even for one day, makes me almost have a panic attack.

I guess I don’t have an explanation for that one yet.

In the mean time, I suppose I’ll go eat yet another banana.