I generally handle serious stress (the kind that doesn't involve classes or bus schedules) quite well. Outwardly, yes. Perfect. I am calm, composed, excellent at lying (Why yes, I was the one that fielded a phone call from Grandpa five minutes after my mom found out the cancer had come back and didn't really feel like telling her 89-year-old father. After I hung up, she looked up from her pile of tissues and said, "Wow. I'm impressed. You wouldn't know anything was wrong!" Um. Yeah. That was the point.), hell, I put frickin' eyeliner on the morning my grandfather died.
That's outwardly. Inwardly (and on the internet)? Oh. Oh ho. Not so much. Let's see. Today I've eaten no actual protein or meals but those brownies in the back of fridge? Gone. My face has erupted into a cavernous wasteland unseen since sophomore year of high school. I clean when I get nervous, and my house has never been cleaner. Seriously. Beds have been stripped, bathroom floors cleaned, that weird little corner cabinet wiped- CLEAN. I'm pretty sure if I bit my nails I wouldn't have any nails left to bite. I've pretty much maxed out the number of Divine Mercy Chaplets you're supposed to say in a day. Oh, and I read four hundred pages. But that's not really a stress thing, more of like a "just Monday" thing.
(Could I have used this burst of industry to study for the GRE? Pssh. Of course not.)
So I should be crashing shortly. But she's fine, everything's fine, and hopefully I won't have another day like this until it's something significantly less scary- like when I have to stand in front of five people who don't like me and convince them that the last ten years of my life have not been a waste.
Oh, that should be a good day. Stay tuned for that.