A hollow sense of being

The semester's off to a rocky start.

For those of you who don't know me, I have a quasi-severe allergic reaction to marijuana. Gasps, shock, disbelief and various other expressions of gaping wonder are not uncommon after I share that little secret, so I'll imagine a room full of people doing it at once. And scene.

So anyway, I smoked a week before school started. I started out fine. Then about two minutes into it, I was hallucinating, seeing time slow down and speed up, and started choking. The effects lasted all night long until my friend, graciously, scooped me up and took me back to her apartment (thanks, Renee!). For about two weeks later, I was suffering from anxiety attacks and the not-too-distant fear that my mind would never again be the same. Now we're week three into the semester-- simple math supposes that I've only just started feeling better, for those of you (like me) who would rather ANY kind of math be spelled out.

Status of Health: check

I'm the editor-in-chief of our school newspaper (I receive far fewer reactions from this bit of news than from the marijuana allergen...). My job requires that I work closely with people. Not as an editor should -- editing, revising, fixing general writing errors -- but as a philanthropist. Why? Because students are soft. In the year and a half that I've had to lead an organization that amasses 40+ people at its general staff meetings, I've come to the conclusion that, unless you've had to face some kind of serious hardship in your life (and I'm being very, very sarcastic), you aren't equipped to face the day head on.

Sure, I complain. I bitch. I threaten to quit. I get so overwhelmed with all of my various responsibilities that I sit alone sometimes and just cry it out until I feel better. And then I suck it up and move on. I don't have the option of not finishing my section. I don't get to shrug my shoulders and quit when the going gets tough. If people hate me on my staff, I just have to smile more and either convince them I'm still a good editor or ignore their behind-my-back comments.

Anyway, all of this is a precursor to: I've replaced 2 editor positions already and STILL have one more surprise section to layout, on top of running the paper. Rupert Murdoch is insane.

Status of Mental Health: check


I think it's deplorable that I'm even writing this here. I try to reserve my blog space for deep, insightful opinions (read: somewhere I can practice writing). However, I've also come up against my worst fear--

I have to do all of this alone. My friends are all filled with their own responsibilities and dramas, and my schedule just doesn't mesh anymore. It's an empty feeling I've never really experienced before, knowing that, though I'd love to sit down and hash it all out with someone, all I have is this blog and myself to tell me that I'm doing the right things.

And you, loyal readers. I don't suspect this post will stay public for very long.