I always have the best of intentions.
I really don't want to put anyone through the tedium that is complaining about being overwhelmed. Complaining about stress is so brutally cliched, like saying that you aren't good with names, procrastinate sometimes or don't always get enough sleep.
Everyone is stressed and nobody is actually good with names.
I'm fully intending to act as though I am 100% content, to practice what I preach, per se, by not letting the stress determine my actions. I'm acting happy to try to convince my body that I really am happy.
I'm drawing smiley faces on foggy windows. I'm humming made up songs. I secretly tap my toes in my shoes when riding the bus. I randomly buy butternut squashes on sale for extraordinary cooking plans. I'm overusing exclamation points in my text messages.
These things help, in their own little way. Any of these beat moping around. I can't handle being lazy for that long, anyhow. Unproductivity doesn't suit me. Another cliche has proven true- yoga has been a life saver. It turns off my thoughts pretty thoroughly, which, trust me, is a miraculous feat.
It's not even that I'm at all depressed. It's just that my brain can't keep up with everything that is going on. A lot of it, in fact, is kick-up-your-heels good news-- internship interviews, weddings-- there's just so damn much of it. Looking at my summer, I just wanted to hyperventilate. What do you mean I'm a bridesmaid twice and I have to move myself and my boyfriend to separate locations across the continent all in the period of a month and a half? Even my mom, the queen of acceptance, in an email yesterday told me "You are such a busy girl, it is just the way of your life at this time, but I am sure you sometimes want to pull your hair out."
Yes, it may be tempting to grab the roots and yank sometimes, but instead, I will drink tea and watch too much Food Network.
Oh yeah, and breathe.