It’s dead week in in D.C., and all the students are in the throes of finals-preparation anguish. In fact, as I submitted my last paper for history class today, I looked the professor in the eye and said “pity the damned,” which has come to summarize my current worldview quite succinctly. In consequence, I have nothing vaguely epic or inspiring to share, so instead I submit for your consideration this mundane admission:
I don’t cope well with stress.
I don’t mean in the existential, Romeo and Juliet, throw down your books and drink cyanide kind of way, tho’ I have a kind of alacrity in sinking, to keep with Shakespeare. I mean I have bad coping habits, specifically the kind that empty my wallet a little too fast. You see, 99% of the time my brain is running on some abstract, higher plane cataloging the differences between Maoist and Leninist Marxism or whether I can glaze leeks like onions. Put me under enough stress, say, my laptop breaking down after having the dentist at my teeth for three weeks straight, and my brain starts to turn itself inside out. Suddenly, I’m in this sensory tunnel where my mind wants to consume a lot of physical material with having to actually think about what it’s processing, usually in a frantic or overloaded fashion. Thanks to modern technology, the coping mechanism that best fits this tendency is online shopping.
Bezos, you’re such an enabler, you devil. Continue reading
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