My Weekend, Exhaustion, and Worrying Sick

You begin to see things that aren't really there. 
You begin to believe they are.

I haven't been sleeping very well. I haven't been eating very well. I haven't faithfully done my homework. I've been moody, paranoid. I've lashed out, I've curled up, shelled up tight like an oyster. I've stumbled to my desk, grasped railings to stand, lost my breath, gone numb.

Over the weekend I was, however, fortunate enough to have the little dorm to myself. Saturday, after sleeping in my roommate's bed, I ventured outside and explored the town. At first, I wondered around, looking at old buildings and admiring the preserved architecture downtown. Eventually I stumbled upon a new hookah lounge dedicated to smoking, activism, and charity. One charity the lounge collects for is Race for the Cure, the tagline of that particular effort being, "Help stop breast cancer while you get lung cancer." I stayed for a bit, which was awkward considering I was the only one there at the time. Conversing with the owner was funny because he reminded me very much of a scrawny version of the caterpillar from Alice In Wonderland, perched high upon a stool and sluggishly smoking a towering hookah pipe. I pretended to read, prolonging my stay and my intended rest from walking, then I was on the streets again, observing all at twilight and scouting out places I'd like to photograph. I made my way to a little cafe with a sign outside that advertised karaoke. Though I had no intention of singing, I went inside for the entertainment, and entertainment I received. Everyone was very friendly, even though I was obviously a misfit newcomer. Some people introduced themselves, others just smiled, but the environment was warm and welcoming, so ended up sitting silently and observing the others, eating and having a good time. When I left, it was dark and had rained. The walk home was fast paced due to my nervousness, but once I arrived I knew I had truly accomplished something: I'd allowed myself to experience something new.

That said, I really should go to the nurse. I keep expecting myself to feel better, which is why I've been waiting. Growing up, if you weren't dieing (and often even if you were), you wouldn't be taken to the hospital for anything. You were to put a band aid on your wound, take an aspirin, and carry on. I guess being brought up that way has conditioned me to avoid nurse's offices and hospitals for any reason. And truly, I believe the only remedy for my malady is sleep; sweet, peaceful rest.

The trouble is that I can't sleep because my mind is going a million miles an hour, worrying about everything I have no control over. I worry about the one crooked tooth I have, marring the perfection that would be my smile. Then I worry about the things I DO have control over. I worry about gaining the infamous Freshman Fifteen. I worry about the assignments I don't find the motivation to do, the tests I don't find the energy to study for. I worry, and I worry, and I worry until my arms are covered in hives and my eyes are black sockets. I worry until I've created monstrous insects clinging, creepy crawling from my ceiling and until I'm sure a tornado has torn through my building. My mind makes great fantasies, great nightmares, until everything I originally worried about is magnified, and all the details overwhelm me. I worry until I'm sure I've gone mad, and then I worry about going mad.

I suppose the ODDyssey wouldn't be the ODDyssey without a perilous and insane journey.